Yours forever
by GraceBe
Summary: Starts during the CS of Series 5. AU. When a strange man comes to Downton Isobel and Dickies' lives take a dramatic turn. How will a tragic death affect their young marriage and will Violet and her returned Russian prince help them to overcome their problems before it is too late?
1. When you want something very badly

**My dear readers, this will start rather nicely, but I warn you: it's going to be a dark beast. I promise lots of goodies abd love, but this is not a comfortable ride. Consider yourself warned!**

 **I'd like to thank my very dear friend Geminied for editing it and want to dedicate this story to my beautiful, adorable niece who was born last Thursday! I sincerly hope she will never stumble about the embarrassing hobby of her old aunt!**

 **Chapter 1**

 **If you want something very badly, set it free. If it comes back you, it's yours forever. If it doesn't, it was never yours to begin with.***

 **Downton Village, September 1924**

Igor Kuragin sighed, as he stepped out into the summer night. Disappointed with the outcome of the dinner he lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke as deeply as possible. The car Violet had provided for him was waiting for him, but he wasn't ready to leave the Dower House. Not just yet. At first he needed to sort out his mind. Seeing Violet and Irina again in the very same room, at the very same table even had been a surreal experience. His wife and his mistress – he still refused to think of Violet as his former lover – were sleeping under the same roof and had eaten at the same table.

He had thought she was crazy to invite Irina to her house, but Violet had had the good sense to invite her friends to prevent the evening from ending in a complete disaster. The presence of Lord Merton and Mrs Crawley had at least minimized the damage and they were both trustworthy enough not to talk about it.

Kuragin had never thought that Irina's character could have taken a turn for the worse, but the years in Chinese exile had taken their toll on her. Irina was older, somehow weaker, but her tongue was sharper than ever.

He doubted a life in Paris with Irina at his side would have more value than a life in York without her. He didn't love Irina. He had once loved her, a lifetime ago, before things beyond their control had shown that they had never been meant for each other. If he wanted anyone at his side for the rest of his life, it was Violet. Without Violet his life was worthless. What did Lord Merton say earlier?

" _If you're going to be miserable, you might as well do it in charming surroundings._ _"_

Perhaps the man was right. Even Violet was right when she claimed that there was no way they could be together as long as Irina existed. But in Kuragin's experience sometimes the right thing was what one could live with – regardless whether society or morals agreed.

In many ways Violet was much more practical and realistic than he was. Even fifty years ago in Russia she had always been the cautious one. He had often joked about her fear to be exposed, but once they realized that her maid, a woman she had trusted with her darkest secrets, had betrayed her, she had proven to be right. Still, caution had never been one of his virtues. He had always lacked caution and patience. When he wanted something he went after it and he usually didn't care for the consequences. If it were for him, he would ship off Irina to Paris while he stayed back in England, close to Violet. Perhaps not as her legal husband, but close enough to be part of her life. Who would care about them anyway? At their age they were past the interest of their environment.

He heard steps behind him and turned around. Lord Merton had left the house and approached him.

"What a lovely night," he said, as he stopped next to Kuragin.

"Lovely is not quite the word I would use," the former prince said with a hint of humour in his voice.

"I admit it depends on your perspective," Dickie agreed.

"Have you ever been married?" Kuragin asked after a few moments of silence.

Merton smirked, "Long enough to know it can be difficult business."

"And yet you think, it's worth another try," Kuragin remarked. He had noticed the tension – and the bond between Lord Merton and Isobel Crawley. Whatever was going on between them, was more than friendship and anything but simple.

"With the right person at one's side everything is possible."

Kuragin scoffed a little, "That sounds very romantic for an English gentleman."

"Even we English have our romantic moments," Dickie admitted good-humoured. "I guess we're used to approach things with patience. It takes longer, but very often the result is very rewarding."

Kuragin thought about this for a moment. Then he asked, "Do you really think patience is the key?"

"Patience and persistence."

Kuragin finished his cigarette and faced his companion with a mix of irony and sadness, "Well, I lack the first and I'm too old for the latter."

"If there's anything I can do to help...," Dickie knew the offer was useless. There was nothing he could do to help the prince, but he wanted to show his sympathy in some way.

"I doubt it, but when you come to Paris, let me know where you are. It'll be my pleasure to introduce you to the Russian side of France."

* * *

 **Paris, Summer 1925**

There was something about the way Isobel used to undress that awoke instincts in Dickie Merton that he had believed to be buried too deeply to be recovered. Surely, picking France as destination for their honeymoon (his idea) was a romantic choice, but going without a maid or a valet (her idea) had turned their first trip together into the most sensual experience of his life. He had never watched his first wife undressing, nor had he shared a bedroom with her for more than a few rare occasions. His life with Isobel was so different from the life he used to live before and he couldn't remember a time when he had ever been happier. He had never been closer to anyone and he had certainly not known anybody as intimately as he knew Isobel.

At first he had been almost scared to share a bed with her, but that had quickly changed when he had realized she wanted to please him just as much as he wanted to please her.

He had known from the very first time he had lain with her that there was something bold about her. The way she spoke her own mind and didn't fear to be challenged fascinated him. There was also something very unique about her that he couldn't place his finger on.

Back then at the dinner before Mary and Matthew Crawley got married, he had tried to ignore it, her, because he had only been a widower for a few months. Even for someone who had never loved his wife, it seemed wrong to go after another woman so soon after becoming a widower.

But when he had seen her once again at a luncheon at the Dowager Countess' he had found himself even more enchanted by her – and had almost ruined it. Another woman probably wouldn't have forgiven him, but she had.

She was nothing like other women and certainly not like the women he had grown up with or was used to from his typical aristocratic environment. But he doubted the reason for all of this was her being a member of the upper middle class. As beautiful, well-educated and intelligent as she was, there was something vibrant inside her that would always catch his full attention. Sometimes, when he watched her like now, when she was oblivious to him, because she was concentrating on something else he asked himself, whether she was aware of the power she held over him; if she knew how much he loved and desired her. At times he thought she had an idea, sometimes she seemed completely unaware of it – like now.

His eyes lingered along the length of her legs, as she gently rolled down the silk stocking and placed it carefully over the rest of her chair.

"Wait," he said, interrupting her, when she reached down to take off her second stocking. She startled a little, but smiled when she saw him standing next to the bed.

"I didn't hear you coming in," she said with a nervous chuckle. "Where have you been?"

"Oh... I had to run some errands," he cleared his throat and took off his jacket, before he leaned down to kiss her lips.

"An errand?" Isobel's forehead wrinkled. "What is it?" She remembered the letter that had arrived for him in the morning. After reading it, his mood had suddenly changed. He had become rather silent and in the early afternoon he had excused himself and vanished. She had never noticed this behaviour on him before and it had left her a bit worried. And now that he was back and attentive as ever, she felt a little ridiculous for having been worried.

"It's a surprise," he returned and kissed her again. She closed her eyes and leaned in when he deepened the kiss. It was their last day in Paris. She already knew she would miss the privacy and lack of staff around them. In Cavenham the comparatively simple life they enjoyed during their trip would be over.

"If we want to make it for dinner, you should let me change now," she mumbled when they broke apart.

"Are you sure you're hungry?" he asked lowly and kissed his way down her jaw and neck. He sank to his knees right in front of her and ran his fingertips over her thigh to were her silk stocking ended and played with the garter. She chuckled and slipped her arms around him. She smelled his cologne and enjoyed the feeling of having him so close. She had never believed she could ever be as happy with a man as she had been with Reginald, but she was. With Dickie Merton she felt utterly safe, loved, and good God, desired. Every time he touched her, she felt shivers running down her spine. She hadn't quite expected this when she agreed to marry him, but their intimacy grew with every day and night she spent at his side.

"I have another question for you," she said with a wide smile on her face, as she started to loosen his tie.

"Hm..."

"Have you ever made love in the middle of the day?"

* * *

 **The artful dodger, a pub in York**

The man at the bar finished his whiskey and instantly ordered the next one. The barman eyed his mysterious guest suspiciously. He was well-dressed, even well-mannered, but his consumption of alcohol was alarming, to say the least. The other odd thing about the man was an old photograph. Every ten minutes he reached into his pocket and looked at it, before he hid it back in his pocket. It showed a young blonde woman and a boy, just as blond as his mother, who smiled happily into the camera.

"What is it?" the barman asked. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Some days are worse than others," the guest replied gruffly.

"Maybe she just doesn't like your drinking," the barman suggested, as he handed him the next whiskey.

"I guess that's true," the man agreed and emptied his glass with one gulp. "She told me so once or twice."

 **~~~tbc~~~**

 ***Cookies for the people who recognize the quote!**


	2. The past is never dead

**Thank you all so very much for your comments after the first chapter!**

 **I hope you will enjoy the next installment. If it helps your imagination, pretend the stranger looks like Michael Kitchen!**

 **I'm also sending cyber hugs to my great beta Gemenied.**

 **Chapter 2**

 **The past is never dead. It's not even past. ~ William Faulkner**

 **Downton Hospital, one week later**

Doctor Richard Clarkson was tired. He rubbed his sore eyes and when he looked at the clock on his desk, he realized it was already after 10 o'clock. He had been in the hospital since 6 in the morning, and he really needed to call it a night now.

If he had left only a few minutes earlier or later he probably would have missed the lonely figure that stumbled through the village and ended right in front of his feet.

"For heaven's sake, man!" Clarkson yelled, when the contents of the man's stomach ended up on his new shoes.

The man groaned. Clarkson strongly suspected that he was nothing but a useless drunkard who had come straight out of the Grantham Arms and so he cursed him again.

"I'm sorry," the man said unsteadily, as he tried to get up. The light of the lantern behind Clarkson illuminated the man's face as he stood and Clarkson noticed the man was bleeding from his temple and from a cut right underneath his eye. Annoyed, because he knew he couldn't send the man to hell now, Clarkson sighed. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," the man answered unsteadily and weaved.

"This is your lucky night then. Someone has to see to your face." Without waiting for an answer he took the man's arm. "Follow me."

* * *

One hour later the man was stitched up and after several cups of hot coffee he was able to articulate himself somewhat properly. From the way he was dressed and spoke, it was obvious the man wasn't neither a tenant farmer nor from the local area. His suit was stained and torn, yet the fabric was quite expensive and modern, as were his shoes. He was about Clarkson's age, perhaps a little younger.

"So, what brings you to Downton?" Clarkson asked his patient as he dried his hands.

"I'm searching for someone," the man answered. He checked his bruised face in a mirror and ran his finger tip over the stitched wound underneath his eye. "You did a good job. I know a thing or two about stitching up people."

"How's that?" Clarkson asked curiously.

"Long story. I don't want to bore you."

"Hm... the village is quite small. Maybe I can help you, if you're searching for someone."

"As a matter of fact, I think you can. Unless there's another doctor working around here."

"Well, I can assure you, there isn't."

"I'm searching for Mrs Isobel Crawley. She's a nurse and the mother of..."

"Matthew Crawley," Clarkson finished in astonishment. His freshly developed sympathy for the man melted like snow in the sun. He couldn't imagine Mrs Crawley... Lady Merton, he reminded himself, to be acquainted with the man. Certainly, she always had a weakness for hopeless cases, but this man didn't quite fit the description. He was no Charles Grigg or some girl fallen from grace. The man had a problem with alcohol and dignity, but he certainly wasn't a poor soul who had lost everything. Perhaps he was a doctor... someone she knew as a nurse or a former colleague of her first husband.

"Yes," the man nodded. "What a shame to die so young."

"What was your name again?" Clarkson asked cautiously.

The man hesitated, "Just call me Edward. You see, Doctor, I really need to talk to Mrs Crawley. Do you know where she lives?"

"I'm afraid you're in for a disappointment. She isn't here. Not anymore."

"What do you mean?" he asked alarmed.

"Mrs Crawley has married again, a few weeks ago. She's moved... away."

"Married?" the man swallowed hard.

"Yes. I thought everybody knew that. It was all over the papers."

"I see..." The man nodded, but Clarkson could see that the news had come as shock. Edward's pale complexion turned white and he looked as if he was going to be sick again.

"Do you have a place to stay overnight?" the doctor asked, hoping he didn't have to offer him shelter.

"Yes," the man answered flatly.

"Good, I'm going now. I'll tell the night nurse to see you out."

"What do I owe you?" the man asked.

Clarkson gave him a long look. "Nothing. But if I were you I would forget about Mrs Crawley."

* * *

 **Dower House**

The Dowager Countess of Grantham sat in her favourite chair by the fireplace and stared at the letter in her hand. It had arrived with the evening post and her heart had tightened in her chest when she had recognized the handwriting on the envelope. To her own shame she had been too nervous – or perhaps too much of a coward – to open it before dinner. Now she was on her own and the brandy next to her offered some kind of comfort, while she was rereading the letter for the third time.

She knew it was too late, but she really wanted to call at Cavenham Park. Perhaps Isobel was free for luncheon or tea with her the next day. She certainly needed someone to talk the news over with.

* * *

 **Cavenham Park**

"Who was it?" Dickie asked, when Isobel returned to their bedroom.

"It was Cousin Violet," she replied, still a little perplexed by the late call.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, a little worried when he noticed Isobel's puzzlement.

"I'm not sure," she answered, while she slipped into bed. "She sounded a little strange. She asked me for luncheon tomorrow."

"Will you go?"

"I think I should, don't you? I haven't seen her in a while. I've quite abandoned her since we got married."

"Yes, of course, I was just wondering, if...," he paused, but then he shook his head. "Nothing."

Isobel watched him with growing curiosity. "What nothing?"

"Nothing. It was a stupid thought. Ignore me." He opened his book again, but Isobel wouldn't allow him to avoid her question. "Are you hiding something from me?"

Dickie chuckled, "Of course not. I'm not good at keeping secrets. On the contrary."

"So, you would never keep anything from me? Even if you thought it best?" She asked, teasing him.

"Of course not. I would never hide anything concerning you or us. That means..." He broke off, awaiting her reaction.

"Yes?" She pushed herself onto her elbows, anticipating his answer.

"As long as I know everything about you."

Isobel laughed out in relief, "I'm an open book. No secrets." She took his book and put it aside before she crawled right next to him and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Unless you feel the need to convince yourself of it...," she whispered and teased his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. "Feel free to do so."

"I might take you up on it," he whispered hoarsely. He placed his hand on the back of her head and kissed her hungrily.

* * *

 **Downton Hospital**

The next day, Isobel headed to Downton early, because she wanted to say hello at the hospital, before she went over to the Dower House for luncheon. She found Dr Clarkson in his office and he was visibly surprised to see her.

"Lady Merton!" he circled his desk and quickly offered her a seat at his desk.

"I just came in to say hello. I hope everything's running fine around here."

"It certainly is," he said and secretly mustered her elegant and doubtlessly expensive appearance. She looked vibrantly beautiful, so incredibly well and happy that his heart began to ache at the mere sight of her. Her marriage to this kind Lord certainly agreed with her.

"As a matter of fact I think it would be good if we could have a board meeting soon – perhaps next week," he suggested with all the professionalism he could muster in her presence.

Isobel agreed with a smile, "Yes, why not. I'm on my way to Lady Grantham. I'll ask her right away."

"Good." He fell silent for a moment, contemplating how to tell her what happened the night before in the very same room they were sitting in. He had barely slept, because the stranger had left him a bit worried. He had thought about going to the Grantham Arms to ask questions among the locals, but then he had decided to give it a rest. The last thing he wanted was people starting to gossip.

"Are you well?" Isobel asked a bit concerned. "You look tired."

"You know me too well," he said, but avoided her questioning eyes. "As a matter of fact, last night I had a strange patient in here."

"What do you mean?" she asked, interested.

"He... he had a few minor injuries in his face. I gathered he was in fight in the pub after he had a few drinks too many. Anyway, he seemed a nice man. He told me, he was searching for someone."

"Golly, how mysterious."

"Indeed," he paused and added, now dead serious. "He was searching for you."

Isobel blushed instantly. "Surely not!"

"I'm afraid he meant you. He mentioned Matthew. He seemed to know him."

As always when someone mentioned her son's name, a shadow crossed Isobel's face. "But who was he?"

"He just told me his name was Edward. I told him you had moved away."

Isobel swallowed. Clarkson knew the name had struck a chord, but she did her best to hide it.

"Well, I have no idea who he is," she lied and rose. "But in any case, I would be grateful if you wouldn't mention this to anyone."

"I won't." And silently he added, "You know I never would."

 **~~~tbc~~~**


	3. We are products of our past

**My dear readers, thank you so much for your continued support! It means a lot to me :-) And don't forget: comments are love. It takes hours and days to write one chapter, but only minutes to review.**

 ***One little extra note, because some people seemed to think I have nothing better to do than stealing someone else's idea for a Violet & Igor plot: **

**I have done no such thing! I admit the idea about gamling I read in another story inspired me to use the it as well, but that doesn't mean I'm going to use it the same way or that it'll play it as it did in this other story. What I mean will become apparent in the next chapters, but I hope people will forgive me, when I don't give away where this storyline is leading.**

 **Pneumonia was a very common desease among people back then and it even this today among older people. I could have given Irina cancer or God knows what else, but when I wrote it, it didn't matter how Irina died and I didn't check every other existing story about Violet & Kuragin to make sure I got the one illness that wasn't used beforehand. **

**Of course, I can't convince anyone to believe me, but I can ask you to tell me directly, if something about this story strikes you as odd. One reviewer was kind enough to complain without going behind my back, but** **I can't answer her/him directly, because it was done anonymously.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Chapter 3**

 **We are products of our past, but we don't have to be prisoners of it. ~ Rick Warren**

 **Dower House**

"Tell me what to make of that!" Violet demanded, when she and Isobel were having coffee in her drawing room. Now that Spratt was out of sight and ear shot, they could finally talk about the reason why the Dowager had invited Isobel in the first place.

"Well, I think the letter is obvious," Isobel said and returned the pages to Violet. "Your prince has returned to England and seems to hope for another chance to… to catch up with you."

Violet gave her a dismissive look, "There's no need to phrase it that way."

"The question is, what will you do when he shows up on your doorstep?" Isobel asked, knowing a situation like this would certainly ask too much of herself.

"I don't know. All this seems rather mysterious to me. I mean, he and the Princess are living in Paris, aren't they? Why should he come back? And how? Where did he get the money? He must be as poor as a church mouse!"

Isobel shrugged, "Who knows what has happened to them since they've moved over there. Maybe they are divorced," Isobel suggested and sipped her coffee. Violet remained silent, as she contemplated the idea, but dismissed it as unlikely. Irina would rather die, before she let him go to be with any other women, much less her.

She turned her attention to Isobel. Her friend had never looked so well, but Violet sensed something was bothering her. She had been quite absent-minded during luncheon and even now she wasn't really paying attention to Violet or her problem.

"How was Paris?" Violet asked. "Did you enjoy the city of love?"

"It was nice," Isobel answered opaquely. "You know I've been to Paris before."

"Yes, but that was during the war, which is not quite the same as a honeymoon, and you, my dear, look extremely radiant for someone who only had a nice honeymoon!"

"If you must know, I… we quite enjoyed it," Isobel answered with a vague smile. "It's a beautiful city."

"Don't let your enthusiasm carry you away," Violet commented dryly.

"That's all the answer you will get." Isobel put her cup down and decided it was time to change the subject, "I met Dr Clarkson this morning. He told me he wanted a board meeting next week."

Violet raised her eyebrow. "I see. So, he's done licking his wounds?" she asked, referring to his hopeless love for the former Mrs Crawley.

Isobel sighed, "Just check your diary and let me know when you're free."

"There's not much on my social calendar these days. You name the day and I'll be there," Violet promised sheepishly and rose graciously from her chair to do as she had just been told.

* * *

 **Downton Hospital**

Before returning home, Isobel stopped once again at the hospital to inform Dr Clarkson about the upcoming meeting. As she stepped into the hospital yard, she stopped, when she heard someone calling out her first name. Irritated she turned around and the blood froze in her veins when she recognized the man who was stepping in her way. He was older than the last time she had seen him, but she would have known him in a group of thousands. How long had it been? Twenty years?

"Almost twenty years," he said, as if he had been reading her thoughts.

"What do you want?" she asked coldly.

"I wanted to see you," he answered in a friendly manner. "It's been a long time. I wanted to see how you are doing."

"Well, you've seen me now. That should do it." She tried to pass him over, but he got hold of her wrist. She flinched at his touch and looked up to meet his eyes. For a few moments he tried to hold her cold gaze, but at some point he couldn't stand it anymore and looked down to his feet.

"Please, Isobel. I know I've hurt you a lot, but I've changed. I'm not the man I used to be."

With a start she freed herself from his grip. "From what I heard you haven't changed one bit!"

The man nodded, his head still bent down. "I see, the Doctor's already talked to you. He wanted to make me believe you had moved away, but then I read your name on the badge in the hallway. They adore you here, Mrs Grey, or should I call you Lady Merton?"

"This conversation is over," Isobel said, but again he stopped her. Not physically this time. This time his words were enough to stop her dead in her movements. "I bet you never told your new husband about me, did you? About what you did to me."

Realizing he wouldn't give up until she paid him the attention he demanded, she turned around to face him. "I haven't told him about you and I don't have the intention to do so."

"I see."

Again he bowed his head, as if she had scolded him like a misbehaving child. She felt a fury only he could provoke rising within her. "No, you don't. And that's the point with you. You never see! You never understand! I don't want you to come near me again. Stay away from me!"

"I don't want to interfere, but..."

"Well, you already are. Please, Edward, go home, wherever that is, because you won't be welcome in mine!"

Isobel turned on her heels and this time he didn't hold her back. He just watched her, as she went inside the hospital and when she left again, he was gone, as if he had never been there.

* * *

After Isobel had left the hospital the doctor opened the cabinet behind his desk and filled his glass with a large whiskey. He had watched Isobel and the stranger talking, ready to step in, in case the man harassed her, but, as always, she had managed to get rid of him all by herself. He couldn't hear what they had been talking about, but from what their body language told him, it was a rather unpleasant conversation.

Something in him wanted to warn her about keeping secrets, but he knew he would cross a line if he talked to her like this. He had already lost the woman he loved to another man, but if he spoke out of term, he would lose her as a friend as well.

* * *

 **The Artful Dodger, a pub in York**

Igor Kuragin finished his whiskey with a disgusted sigh. He had given up on finding decent vodka in this country, so he settled for warm whiskey instead. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. So far his evening had been quite successful. His other pocket was filled with enough money to move into decent accommodation, to eat well, and the most important thing: to buy his favourite brand of Turkish cigarettes.

After almost seven years that he had spent in the darkest holes this world could come up with his luck was finally changing. He was rid of Irina, he was back in England, and in time he would see Violet again. In his letter to her he had been purposely vague about his whereabouts or plans, hoping it would ruffle her feathers to know he was England, but not the circumstances or his exact whereabouts.

The first few weeks in Paris with Irina had been a nightmare for him and it taken him some time until he had recovered from Violet's rejection. But it wasn't his pride that had suffered the most – for the first time in his life he had really been tired of life. Similar to Irina he felt he had lost too much to go on. But unlike his wife he had not given in to these feelings while Irina had simply given up on anything. She had stopped eating, had even stopped complaining. And then, after a long cold winter in Paris Irina had suffered from pneumonia – that was when he had started gambling. She needed a doctor and so he had to find money to pay him. In the end no doctor could help her, because she had decided to die. Just like that. All of sudden he had been free. Free to go wherever he wanted. Free to make the best of what was left of his life.

From the day he was born he had been privileged, powerful, but never really free. But now he was. His life had been ruled by the law of the noblesse, it had given him a wife he had never really wanted. In the end his life and the mighty Russian empire had crumbled around him. There was nothing left of it – all he had left was Violet. And he wanted her back.

Next to him a man arrived and ordered a whiskey. Kuragin checked him out with mild curiosity.

"Good evening," the man behind the bar greeted him. "Haven't seen you in a while!"

"I was exploring the rural side of Yorkshire," the guest joked with a bitter smile, as he emptied his first glass and ordered the next one straight away. "Downton is really a snake pit of a place!"

"Did you find your Lady friend?"

The man scoffed, "I have."

"But she wasn't keen?"

"Not quite," the man laughed without any humour. "She's slipped through my fingers – just like that."

"Did you just say Downton?" Kuragin asked. The man turned around, his eyebrows narrowed in confusion.

"Yes, do you know it?"

"I've been there a few times. But I missed out on the snakes apparently."

The man grinned humourlessly, "Do you want to hear about them? The next drink is on me!"

 **~~tbc~~**

 ***Huggles to my busy beta reader, Gemenied***


	4. It's a wildly held view that hiding

**Here we go again! I hope you all enjoyed your holidays :-)**

 **Chapter 4**

 **It's a wildly held view that hiding the truth from someone we love is very often the worst of all choices.**

 **Cavenham Park, a few days later**

After breakfast Isobel and Dickie were in the library, checking their mail. Dickie sat at his desk while Isobel was occupying the chair by the fireplace. This morning she had received three letters. One from Cora with an invitation for a dinner the next evening, one from a cousin who lived in Manchester, and one for which she didn't feel the slightest wish to open.

She had hoped Edward had understood the message and would stay away, but the letter in her hand told her she had been mistaken. Nervously she looked up, but Dickie was too preoccupied with his own mail to notice her flustered behaviour. She didn't know how Edward had found out where she lived, but she realized it was pointless to think about. He had always been rather resourceful when he wanted something.

She drew a deep breath and slit open the envelope. The contents were what she had expected. A series of apologies, mixed with the old accusations and a rather unsettling request.

"Are you all right, Darling?" Dickie asked.

Feeling as if she'd been caught red handed, her head jerked up, and she quickly faked a smile, "Yes, of course."

"You look pale." He stated worriedly and rose. She quickly hid the letter in the gap between herself and the chair.

"I think I just need some fresh air," she said quickly, when he reached her. "I've got a letter from Cora. She invites us for dinner tomorrow evening."

"That's nice of her."

She gently squeezed his arm and smiled up to him, hoping to ease his worries.

"Perhaps we can go a little earlier. I'd love to see George!"

"Anything you want," Dickie said and kissed her head. "Now, will you join me for a walk in the garden?"

"Just let me fetch a hat and my coat," she said and waited until he had returned to his desk before she carefully hid Edward's letter between the other two. She didn't like hiding things from him, in fact, she hated not telling him the truth. But in the end it was for the best. She didn't want to burden him with a part of her past that she hoped to bury again as soon as possible.

* * *

 **Downton, Dower House**

"Your visitor is in the drawing room, Mylady," Spratt announced when Violet came downstairs. She hadn't expected anyone, but, once the door bell had been rung, she knew who it was. It had only been a matter of time, before he would appear on her doorstep. So, the best she could do, was pretending not to be impressed by his visit – neither in front of him nor Spratt who already looked as if he were a cat that had eaten a canary.

"Thank you, Spratt. Could you please bring us some tea and cake? And don't forget the lemon!"

"Very well, Mylady."

Spratt opened the door for her and she went in, every inch the dignified Dowager Countess. The former prince stood at the window, his back turned to her. For a few seconds she remained as sound- and motionless as possible, trying to calm her nerves. It had been almost a year since he had been standing there in the very same spot and she remembered it as if it had been yesterday.

Igor Kuragin had always owned every room he entered and that hadn't changed with his loss of status and title.

With rising excitement she saw him turning around. He looked better than the last time she had seen him. Healthier. His hair was a bit shorter and his suit was new and obviously hand tailored.

"How long will you stand there and stare at me?" he asked with a satisfied smile on his lips.

"I just wasn't sure if I might have seen a ghost," she shot back and moved slowly into the room.

"If you expected a ghost I am certainly a disappointment," he countered. "I might be old, but I'm very much alive."

"That I can see." She moved slowly across the room and sat down in her chair, inviting him to sit down as well. "I've asked Spratt for some tea."

"Always the perfect hostess," he commented wryly, as he sank onto the couch opposite to her chair.

"I wouldn't want to be called inhospitable," she said with a smile that froze on her face when she met his eyes. His gaze was so intense that she felt burned by it.

"That is hardly what I could accuse you of."

Silence fell, but his eyes remained focused on her. She hated how easily he could break through her defences, which usually worked as a perfect shield against anyone, including the people closest to her.

"Why have you come back?" she finally asked.

"You know why."

"What happened to the Princess?"

He sighed, "She died. A few months ago."

"I'm sorry," she said lowly. The news surprised Violet. She had never thought of Irina as someone mortal. To her Irina had always been more like a vampire. Immortal and dangerous. To think of her as dead, seemed unreal and it would take some time, before she could think of it with satisfaction.

"Thanks to you she didn't have to die in China. I think she was grateful for that – not that she ever admitted to it," he added with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Gratitude wasn't her strongest suit," Violet replied dryly.

Igor chuckled, "No, it certainly wasn't."

"And now?"

The door opened and Spratt came in. Moving even slower than he usually did, he served tea and cake. After the butler had left again, Kuragin leaned forward and said eagerly, "Please, you know why I'm here. Things have changed."

"For you perhaps, but not for me," Violet replied. "How did you even get back to England?"

"I had some help," he explained.

"From whom?"

He hesitated, "From your friend Lord Merton."

"Dickie Merton?" Violet was astonished, but then she remembered where Lord and Lady Merton had spent their honeymoon. She should have realized the connection sooner.

"Well, I've already known he's a romantic fool, but I think he's overdoing it a bit!" she mocked.

"I don't care for his motivation, but I appreciate his efforts concerning my legal status in this country."

"I assume, he's also given you the address of his tailor?"

"As a matter of fact, he has," he admitted with a half grin.

To occupy herself, she sipped from her tea. Right now she wanted to strangle the baron for his selfless act of charity, but before her fury could properly unfold itself, she saw Igor rising. She reacted promptly and against her judgement, she got to her feet as well.

"I didn't come here to justify myself," he said, as he closed the distance between them. "And I didn't come here to be sent away again like one of your servants!"

He cupped her face gently with his hands and leaned in. Fearing he wanted to kiss her, Violet prepared to avoid him, but he didn't move. He just looked straight into her eyes, which caused her throat to get dry. She swallowed hard, but didn't break the eye contact. His silent proximity confused her. The sensation of being so close to him again after all these years was irritating to say the least. His eyes wandered down to her mouth and she noticed how she moistened her lower lip. She remembered how close to the edge of sanity only his kisses could bring her. All the alarm bells in her head started ringing, when she realized where they were and how easily someone could walk in on them. She mustered all her will power to break free from him.

"Please...," she whispered and noticed with a shock, how hollow her voice sounded.

"Say, you'll have me," he said huskily. "Tell me, I didn't come here to be sent away again."

"Give me some time," she pleaded. "I need to think!" Unsteady from the intensity of what she had just experienced, she searched for the rest of her chair and sank into the seat. He returned to his seat and, as if he needed to occupy himself with something, drank his tea. Violet watched him with a mixture of curiosity and fascination. The man still had the power to turn her world upside down and the knowledge scared her immensely.

He finished his tea and rose again, agitated like a tiger in a cage. "All right. I won't press you," he said, his voice a little unsteady. "But I won't give up either. I'll be back."

* * *

 **Cavenham Park, the next day**

"Are you ready?" Dickie, perfectly dressed in white tie, peeked in, just as Isobel finished putting on her gloves. "We have to hurry, if you want to spend more than five minutes with the boy!"

"Yes, I am ready," she said and nodded politely at her maid. "Thank you."

"Let's go then!" Dickie held the door open for Isobel who stopped in her tracks when she realized she had forgotten her purse.

"I'll get it for you," Dickie offered. "Go downstairs and get your coat!"

"It's on my dressing table."

Dickie detected the purse quickly and picked it up. A piece of paper that had been stuck underneath ended on the floor and he bent over to pick it up. Obviously, it was the last page of a letter, nothing that would usually catch his eye, if it weren't for the last words on the page that said,

 _With undying gratitude and love, Edward_

He fought the urge to take the page to read it through. Instead he swallowed his rising discomfort, placed it back on the table, and left the room.

* * *

 **Downton Abbey, the library**

After dinner, when the men were still busy drinking port, Violet and Isobel escaped into the library to have a quiet conversation.

"So, he really said that Dickie gave him money to gamble his way back to England? I can't believe it. He didn't tell me a thing!" Isobel said, astonished after Violet had finished her report.

"Yes. Well, I doubt he's mentioned to your husband that he intended to use the money for gambling, but fact is, he did," Violet confirmed. "And now I have to think about what to do with him!"

Isobel gave her a meaningful glance, "Well, his wife is dead. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Violet didn't respond. She thought about the afternoon and wished she had sent him away, without giving him any kind of hope. This way she had put them both into the worst of possible places. If she wasn't strong enough to send him away now, she would have to muster the strength to make him a part of her life and right now she didn't know which scenario demanded more strength and which would get her into deeper trouble.

"You make it sound so easy," Violet sighed and decided to drop the matter, until she had time to think about it. She mustered Isobel with growing interest, "Is everything all right with you and Dickie?"

Isobel's eyes widened in surprise. "Of course. Why not?"

Violet shrugged, "I think, you and your husband look both rather absent-minded tonight. Is there already trouble in paradise?"

"There's nothing wrong," Isobel assured her, but deep down inside she was wondering the same thing. Dickie had barely spoken to her all evening. Not on their way to the Abbey, nor after.

"Are you sure? I know these wrinkles on your forehead. They're usually directed towards me, but since I haven't done anything wrong this time, it must be someone else's fault." Under Violet's scrutinizing look Isobel gave in. Violet already knew something was up. The woman smelled trouble from a mile away and Isobel needed to get it off her chest. And if there was someone, who could keep a secret, it was the Dowager Countess.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Is the pope a catholic?"

"I mean it, I have never told anyone else about this," Isobel lowered her voice. "If I tell you this, you have to swear on your husband's grave that you won't tell anyone about it!"

 **~~~tbc ~~~**

 **So, what will Violet decide? What is Isobel hiding from Dickie? And what happens when things beyond their control change everything?**

 **P.S. Let me know what you think! Comments are love :-)**


	5. Gambling is an act of faith

**I apologize in advance for the way the story will continue. This is getting a little angsty and I'll include a tiny spoiler... character death ahead. The person is dispensable, but, of course, it will change the dynamic of the story. Thanks to Gemenied, my lucky star to helped me so much with the chapter!**

 **Chapter 5**

 **Gambling is an act of faith**

(Toba Beta)

 **Downton Hospital, the next day**

"Lady Merton!" Clarkson barely believed his eyes when he saw Isobel entering the yard. He hadn't expected to meet her again before the board meeting. He dismissed the nurse who had been talking to him and crossed the lawn to meet her.

"Good morning, Dr Clarkson!" Isobel greeted him in a friendly manner.

"What can I do for you?"

Isobel blushed and cleared her throat, "I need your help, but I'm afraid it is a very personal matter."

Clarkson held his breath. He could see something was troubling her and he strongly suspected that it had something to do with the man who had asked for her the week before. Something in his gut told him to stay away from the matter, because it only meant trouble. Yet refusing her plea was not an option. Not when she approached him like this, not when she asked for _his_ help, something she had never done before. "Maybe we should go into my office then."

* * *

Dickie stood in front of the hospital, unsure whether to go inside or not. He had finished running his errands and Isobel had told him she wouldn't be long, but he was already waiting for over ten minutes. Usually he wouldn't have hesitated to go inside the hospital to look for her, but today he hesitated. He had spent all night tossing and turning, because he couldn't forget the letter. The words _"With undying gratitude and love, Edward"_ kept haunting him. The letter had vanished when they had gone to bed. It had taken all of his willpower not to search for it, once Isobel had fallen asleep. Until last night he had never doubted her. He had never questioned her or her love for him, because in his eyes she had been incapable of lie or deceit.

But the longer he thought about it and the longer he watched her, the more a certain tension about her became obvious. There was a nervous flicker in her eyes and sometimes, when she thought he wasn't paying attention to her, he noticed how her hands were shaking. So either he was going mad and misreading the signs or she was indeed hiding something from him.

Tired of waiting, Dickie strolled into the hospital yard and stopped in his tracks when he saw Isobel and the Doctor leaving the hospital together. Both were too occupied with their argument to notice him and he mindfully withdrew so that be wouldn't be seen by them right away. He had nothing against the Doctor per se, but it was obvious, the man held feelings for Isobel and sometimes Dickie wondered, if she was aware of them.

"You can't ask something like this of me!" the doctor said angrily. "It's wrong and you know it!"

"Well, I don't have much of a choice. I thought, if anyone would help me, it were you!"

"And I will help you. Always, but not with this! You have to tell Lord Merton!"

"But don't you understand? I can't." She paused and shook her head, obviously angry and disappointed with Clarkson. "It was mistake to come here. Good day!" Isobel turned on her heels, ready to storm off, but Clarkson quickly placed his hand on her arm.

"Lady Merton... Isobel..."

Enraged, her head shot around and she glared at him, but Clarkson remained unimpressed.

"You have to tell your husband. He deserves the truth and he will understand."

"Good day, Doctor!" she repeated with clenched teeth and left Clarkson behind.

Shocked about what he had just witnessed, Dickie went down the pavement and waited for Isobel.

"There you are!" she said, once she had detected him. "We can go, if you want!" She smiled at him, but it was obvious something had shaken her up. Her cheeks were flushed and her hands nervously toyed with the strap of her purse.

"I'm ready," he said, hoping to sound as casual as possible, and offered her his arm.

* * *

 **Dower House**

Violet hesitated before she sealed the envelope. She was making a life changing decision and once the letter was out of the house, there was no chance to take it back. She and Igor were both too old to play games, but what she was about to do, had to be handled carefully. It was her last chance in life to be with someone she truly loved. Fifty years ago they had been robbed of a life together and whatever time was left for them, it was not much. If they were lucky, they had a few months or - if there was mercy in this world - probably a couple of years left.

* * *

 **Cavenham Park**

When Dickie entered the bedroom he shared with Isobel, her maid was already gone and Isobel was applying some lotion to her hands. She watched her husband in the mirror, as he silently sat down in the chair by the fireplace and picked up his book without acknowledging her.

"Are you all right?" she asked his reflection.

"Of course," he answered without looking up.

"You've been so silent all day," she remarked, without taking her eyes from the mirror.

He didn't answer and irritated by his behaviour she turned around. "Dickie, last night Cousin Violet told me something that has kept me wondering."

"What did she tell you?" he asked, his eyes still fixated on the pages.

"She told me about a visit from Prince Kuragin."

Finally, he looked up and met her eyes. "Is he back in England?" he asked mildly surprised.

Isobel raised her right eyebrow, "Don't pretend you didn't know," she said. "When we were in Paris you went to see him, didn't you? And you gave him some money and promised him to help him to gain ground here in England."

Dickie closed his book with a loud sigh and rubbed his tired eyes, "Is that a crime?"

"No," she answered sharply. "But you could have told me."

"He asked me not to talk about – especially not to you."

"And why?"

"Because he knew you would tell Lady Grantham."

"Well, she deserved a warning!" Isobel argued. "She was quite shocked."

"So was he, when she sent him away!"

Isobel scoffed and rose. "Oh please, Dickie, I doubt either you or me can pass a judgement on them! You don't know what happened between them fifty years ago."

"I know enough to see they deserve a chance."

The exchange got more and more heated and Isobel didn't know if she had ever been so furious with him. His intransigence was annoying beyond measure. She drew a deep breath and tried again to reason with him, "It's not that I think they don't deserve a chance. I wish them the best. I really do, but I don't know why you kept this from me!"

He looked as if she had slapped him right across the face, "Are you really listening to yourself?" he asked aghast.

"Pardon me?"

"You complain about me keeping things from you. And what do you do?"

Isobel became pale and a knot formed in her stomach, "What do you mean?"

Dickie hesitated before he answered, "I've seen you with Dr Clarkson today," he admitted then. "And yesterday I found a letter on your dressing table."

Her head jerked around, scanning the table. "I didn't read it," he said, reading her thoughts. "I just noticed the signature. Who is Edward?"

She was about to deny it, to invent a lie that would buy her time, but she knew she could only minimize the damage.

"Very well then," she said lowly and went to her dressing table. She opened the drawer and took out an envelope. "Read it." She showed him the letter without facing him.

"I don't need to read it," he shook his head. "Just tell me, what this is all about."

"No, please, I want you to read it," she said and he took it with a heavy sigh. He started reading what gave her time to think about an explanation. If she was lucky it would keep him from asking more questions she wasn't ready to answer.

* * *

 **The artful dodger, a pub in York**

For professional gamblers, gambling was like a religion. The gambling table was the altar and the cards became the relics that needed worshipping. To believe in luck was an act of faith and unfortunately luck didn't follow the rules of religion. There was no absolution for a bad hand and no guarantee of a future life in a better place when the hand was promising.

Igor Kuragin had met enough gamblers to know one when he saw one and today he shared the same table with two hopeless cases. One was Edward, whatever his last name was. He was not only addicted to cards, but also to everything that was alcoholic. The other man was an even bigger fool. Compared to Kuragin he was a child. He was good looking and cunning, which was never a good combination. If someone like him lost at the gambling table it was nothing but divine justice.

He had no idea, where Edward had found the young man and right now it didn't matter. He had introduced himself to Igor as Larry Grey and was obviously made of money and arrogance – and those were doomed to lose everything sooner or later. He was drinking too much and there was a glitter in his eyes that gave away the greed that drove him to the card table.

Larry and Edward were both fools and they were doomed to lose. From what Kuragin had been told by Edward he had already lost everything he ever owned and Mister Grey was about to lose too.

* * *

 **Cavenham Park**

Shocked by what he had just read Dickie returned the written pages to Isobel who was sitting on the bed.

"Have you given him the money?" he asked angrily.

"No yet. That's why I was at the hospital. I asked Dr Clarkson to do it. He already knows him. And before you ask, it's not your money."

"I don't care whose money it is!" Dickie yelled. "How can you even contemplate doing such a thing without talking to me about it?"

"I didn't want to upset you. And he's not your problem... not really."

"Well, I thought we were married," he said flatly. "And married people should share their problems with each other."

Isobel lowered her gaze and looked down on her neatly trimmed nails. "I've only wanted to spare you the trouble of dealing with him," she explained.

"Isobel, the man is blackmailing you!" Dickie said infuriated.

"He's asking a favour," she argued mildly, still without looking at him. Of course, it was blackmail, actually it was much worse than that, but she couldn't admit to it.

Dickie glared at her. It was obvious that she was hiding something and her obstinacy drove him mad. "Why don't you trust me?" he asked in a raw tone of voice.

"This is not about you!" Isobel closed her eyes and did her best to keep her voice even. She didn't want to argue with him, but she couldn't tell him the whole truth either.

"How is this not about me? You're my wife and what troubles you, troubles me!"

"I've told you what happened. He was Matthew's godfather and he did a lot for us after Reginald died. I owe him my help," she insisted.

"And helping him includes giving him five hundred pounds?" he scoffed. "Don't think I'm foolish enough to believe that!"

"You've read that he's fallen on rough times. Dickie, please, he was a friend of Reginald's."

"A friend you've never mentioned before! I wonder why!"

"Dickie, please!" she rubbed her temples, feeling a major headache developing, if he took this any further. "I'm tired. Can't we talk about this tomorrow? Please?"

Seeing her discomfort, he gave in. He didn't want to distress her, but he had no intention of letting the issue go either. "If you wish. But after this, I doubt I'll sleep a wink." With sagging shoulders he went to the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, almost fearful.

"I think, I'll spend the night in my dressing room. Good night."

The door fell shut behind him and once she was alone, a lonely tear rolled down her cheek.

* * *

 **The artful dodger, a pub in York**

Kuragin stood outside the pub and smoked a cigarette. As he had expected, the evening had been a success. Tonight he had won more money than he ever had in Calais or in any other place he had been on his journey. He felt a little sorry for Edward who best fit the description of the sad fool, but bleeding out Mr Larry Grey had been a pleasure. Kuragin grinned when he thought about the disbelief on the young man's face when he had realized he had lost over a hundred pounds to an old refugee from Russia.

He disposed of his cigarette and the next moment the front door of the pub flew open and Larry Grey came out. He was unsteady on his feet and was cursing loudly at the bartender who had kicked him out.

"Go home!" the bartender yelled at Larry and kicked the door closed.

Larry answered something incomprehensible and turned to Kuragin. The former prince gave him an ironic smile.

"Better luck next time. You should never cheat on someone who's seen more of the world than you."

"Pah!" He lurched aside and Kuragin went back inside the almost empty pub. It was almost closing hour and Edward was trying to find enough coins in his pocket to pay his last drink.

"The drink is on me," Kuragin reached in his pocket.

"Thanks. You are a good guy," Edward hiccupped and staggered to the door. Kuragin ordered one last drink and watched Edward leaving.

"Good night, eh?" the bartender said.

"Quite," Kuragin agreed and emptied his glass. "I'm going upstairs," he said. "Good night!"

He crossed the room and approached the staircase when he heard voices from the outside. Curious, he went to the front door. He opened it and saw Edward and Larry arguing in the middle of the street. Kuragin shook his head about the two drunken fools. They were shouting at each other and grabbed each other's collar. Should he go out and interrupt their quarrel? He sighed and decided to act, when Edward suddenly punched Larry. The young man couldn't hold his balance and fell over. He hit his head on the asphalt and didn't move when Edward kicked him in the stomach.

"Damn it!" Kuragin cursed and hurried outside. Then he heard a horn blowing and the sound of screaming brakes as someone tried to stop his motorcar.

 **~tbc~**

 ***Reviews are highly appreciated***


	6. Hell is the distance between two people

**Thanks again for your lovely comments and messages! I hope you will enjoy the next chapter. There's trouble in paradise, but where's the story without the conflict, right?**

 **Huggles and kisses to my beta girl!**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Hell is the distance between two people who love each other.**

 **Cavenham, five days later**

Larry Grey's funeral was crowded. Every time a young person died – no matter how popular or unpopular he might have been – people were left shocked and curious. People and papers were likewise speculating about the peculiar accident that killed Larry.

To Isobel the story behind his death was dispensable. Larry had died in a car accident just like Matthew. Unsurprisingly though, with Larry a lot more drama was involved. He had been drunk and the doctors had found evidence of a severe struggle all over his body. Pedestrians had witnessed Larry and another man fighting on the street right before a car had hit him fatally.

Haunting memories of the worst time of her life came back to her and robbed her of the sleep she needed. It pained her to watch Dickie mourning his oldest child and it hurt her even more, how he was drifting away from her. Isobel knew that Larry and Dickie's relationship had never been easy, not even when Larry was a small boy. They had never reached a mutual understanding of each other and now it was too late to fix it. She understood her husband's pain and wanted to support him, but he wouldn't allow her to comfort him. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get through to him. Every time she approached him, he rejected her. He barely spoke to her or anyone else and she wasn't sure, whether the reason lay in his overwhelming pain or in their argument the night Larry died.

Over the last days they had been busy arranging the funeral. It had kept their minds occupied, but she feared the days and weeks that followed. When the emptiness after the exhausting days between death and the funeral finally arrived. She feared for the time when they were left alone with each other and their sorrow.

When most of the funeral guests had left Isobel used her chance to slip outside to get some fresh air. The day had taken its toll on her; her head ached and the muscles in her neck were stiff. It was a beautiful late summer day and she hoped the warmth would help to warm up her aching muscles. But she wasn't alone for very long. The sound of heels and a cane hitting the ground announced the Dowager's arrival.

"We're about to leave," Violet said, as she stopped next to Isobel. "It's time we allowed you to have a rest."

"We're so grateful for your support," Isobel said. "But I think the worst is still to come." Isobel looked over Violet's shoulder where Dickie and his son Tim were talking to Robert and Cora.

Violet had to agree. "I'm afraid it is. How is he taking it?"

"I don't know," Isobel admitted and when she saw Violet's puzzled glance, she added, "I know he's hurting, but he doesn't talk to me."

"You have to give him some time. If someone can understand him, it's you. He will see that."

Isobel shrugged. "I think he already knows that, but he doesn't trust me. Every time he looks at me it's like he has never seen me before."

Violet sighed. "I've told you, you should have told him the truth. I'm the first one to admit that a woman should keep secrets from her husband, if it benefits their relationship, but in your case it only makes things worse. Dickie Merton is not the kind of man who's oblivious to problems. Unlike many other men he doesn't like to ignore them."

Isobel shook her head, denying the truth in Violet's words. "Well, I can't tell him now. I would only make things worse for him."

"No, perhaps not now," Violet confirmed and for a moment both women stayed silent, before she added, "But soon. Before the whole thing eats you up and spits you out."

Fearing her emotions would get the better of her, Isobel changed the subject.

"Have you heard from Prince Kuragin?" she asked.

"No, not since I wrote to him a few days ago," Violet answered with a cryptic smile. "Who knows what he's up to these days?"

* * *

After she had changed Isobel stared at her empty bed and gave up hope Dickie would return to her room tonight. He had been staying in his dressing room for the last couple of nights and nothing about his behaviour towards her indicated that he wanted to change that.

She had no idea, if he was still punishing her or if he was trying to protect himself by building walls. She just knew either way was wrong and that she needed to change it.

Determined, she tied her robe and went to Dickie's dressing room. She found him standing by the window. He stared into the dark night outside. Isobel's heart ached by the lonely sight of him.

"Dickie?" she asked lowly. He turned his head, when he heard her voice.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I just wanted to see, if you are all right," she said.

"I guess I am. It was a long day," he answered, facing the dark window again.

"It was indeed." Closing the distance, she wrapped her arms around him from behind. She snuggled up against him, hoping the physical contact would break his defences, but she only felt how he tensed under her touch.

"Please," she whispered. "Just let me hold you."

With relief she noticed how he relaxed and closed her eyes. She pressed herself tightly against his back and whispered, "I miss you. Won't you come back to our room? Can't we get through this together? I know how you feel."

He didn't answer right away. Instead he placed his hand on hers and toyed with her wedding ring. Then he said, "I'm not sure it would do us much good." He freed himself from her embrace and turned around.

"I don't know why you insist on sleeping in here," she said irritated. She looked around. The room was small and the furniture almost plain, more like a prison than a place of refuge. "Or should we call it _hiding_?"

"I'm not hiding," he returned. "I just need to be on my own for some time. There are things I need to adjust to."

"What kind of things?" she asked curiously.

"Our situation."

"What situation?" Her impatience was growing rapidly and she felt the urge to shake him.

He sighed, "I have to accept that there are things in your life you do not want me to be part of."

Isobel swallowed, "So, this isn't about you grieving your son. This is about me not telling you about an old friend who needed my help." She knew it was cruel to describe it that way, but she didn't like the way he tried to corner her.

"You call it help. I call it blackmail. Remains the question how your old friend would define the matter."

Isobel shifted from one foot onto the other, uncomfortable with his eyes questioning her. "Well, if that's how you feel about it, I should be going."

"Yes, perhaps you should."

The silence that followed was icy. Defeated by his attitude Isobel turned and left the room.

* * *

 **A small apartment in York**

Igor Kuragin lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling above him. The events of the day were keeping him awake. In the afternoon he had watched the funeral from afar. If he had only known beforehand who Edward's mysterious gambling partner was, he would have stayed away from them. How insane was it that from all the broken and lost souls in Yorkshire he had gambled with the son of the man who had helped him to return to England? He didn't really consider Lord Merton a friend – he was more like an ally. A man who understood him. And now the man had lost his oldest son and heir. Igor felt for him. He knew what it meant to lose a child, a son for that matter. The death of child altered everything for a parent and nothing could mend the wound it inflicted.

And what about Edward? He hadn't seen the fool for days. After Larry's death he had practically vanished from the face of the earth. Kuragin knew the police was searching for him, because witnesses had seen them arguing. Thankfully the bartender from the Artful Dodger hadn't mentioned Igor to the authorities – of course, Igor had thanked the man with a generous tip for his discretion.

He rubbed his tired eyes, wishing he knew what to do.

Next to his bed a letter from Violet waited to be answered. It contained the answer he had dreamed about and prayed for, but his unwanted involvement into young Mr Grey's unfortunate death had disrupted his plans. At least he had seen her today, if only from afar. As usual her attire had been extremely glamorous. In black the woman was even more impressive than in any other colour he had seen her in. Every inch of her was imperious and her sight had caused his heartbeat to increase. It was insane to love and desire someone that much at his age, but he did and he couldn't wait to hold her in his arms again. As soon as he knew what to do about Edward.

* * *

 **Downton Abbey, one week later**

Isobel and Dickie arrived at Downton in time for dinner. It was the first time they were leaving the house since Larry's funeral. Since Tim had left Cavenham a few days ago, Isobel and Dickie had struggled through their days with half hearted conversation and avoiding each others' company as often as possible. Living like this had always been Isobel's nightmare and now she was living it day by day. Every time he left the room, she wanted to throw something after him, but she feared an emotional outburst would just leave her in a worse state.

The dinner at Downton was a welcome distraction from all that, but Isobel was sure the family would notice the icy atmosphere between them. Especially Cousin Violet would wonder what was going on. So, it would be best, if both of them put on a brave face and did the best they could to appear like a normal couple.

"Do me a favour and stop ignoring me for at least the next few hours," Isobel said, when they climbed out of the car. "I don't think you want Cousin Violet or the others to question us about the state of our marriage."

She didn't wait for an answer, because she didn't expect one, and greeted the butler with a kind smile. "Good evening, Carson."

"Mylady."

In the entrance hall they were greeted by Robert, Cora, and Violet.

"I'm sorry for the feeble welcome, but Mary and Edith are upstairs with Dr Clarkson," Cora explained. "It seems the children got the chicken pox."

"Oh no!" Isobel said. "How awful."

"Indeed," Violet commented dryly. "Let's hope the whole thing won't be spread among the rest of us! I haven't grown older than Methuselah to meet my end covered in a rash with blisters."

Isobel looked up the staircase and made a quick decision. This could be her chance to talk to Dr Clarkson in private. "I'll quickly go upstairs and see how they are! I'll be right back."

Before anyone could object Isobel was heading upstairs. Dickie's eyes followed her with growing suspicion. Violet who had watched him decided to distract him. She got hold of his arm and gave him one of her rare smiles, "How are you holding up?" she asked him lowly while they strolled into the drawing room.

"As expected, I suspect," he answered vaguely.

"Well, at least you have Cousin Isobel to rely on," Violet said. "As sad as it is, she's the person that knows best what you're going through."

"I know," he said pensively.

Up in the hallway, Isobel almost ran into Dr Clarkson when he left the nursery.

"Lady Merton," he greeted her somehow coldly.

"Dr Clarkson," she said with a smile. "How are the children? Is it really chicken pox?"

"I'm afraid it is. I'd advise you to stay away from the nursery for the time being." He walked past her and she followed him around the gallery.

"I've already had chicken pox. So, I should be safe," she said. "But it's good to see you. I'm afraid our last meeting wasn't very pleasant. I was unkind to you and I'm deeply sorry for it."

"You were upset," Clarkson summed up. "I wish you would tell me what this is all about."

"As I've told you, I cannot," she said, "But I hope this won't stand between us. I would hate to lose your friendship over this."

Clarkson stopped in his tracks and looked at her for a few moments. Then he cleared his throat and said, "You won't. Your money is still in my office. You should come over and pick it up, because I won't give it to anyone else."

Violet watched the clock in the corner of her eyes. Isobel had been upstairs for some time now and Violet noticed a certain nervous flicker around Lord Mertons' eyes. His impatience and discomfort was obvious and Violet couldn't remember when she had ever seen him like this. She had already noticed upon the couple's arrival that the atmosphere between him and Isobel was chilly to say the least. Both visibly suffered from the distance between them.

Violet knew both of them well enough to know that living like this must be horrible for both of them.

"I'm sure she's just enjoying her usual talk shop about pustules and itching," Violet suggested amused. "She'll be here in no time."

"Perhaps you're right. I'm afraid life at Cavenham is rather grim these days." He looked nervously at his watch and rose. "If you'll excuse me, please. I'll get her before Carson announces dinner."

Violet wanted to object, but realized it was useless. The Lord had already risen to his feet and was leaving the room as discreetly as possible.

"That's rather harsh of you!"

Isobel and Richard Clarkson had reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I mean it," the Doctor replied. "After all we've been through, you owe me more than a shallow explanation like this!"

"I owe you nothing!" Isobel argued coldly.

Clarkson scoffed. "You know what you mean to me! I've always been there for you, even when you didn't even realize you needed me! Repaying my devotion to you with honesty should be given!"

For a moment Isobel was too shocked to phrase an answer, but then she drew a deep breath and straightened her back, "I had no idea there was a price for your friendship."

"I'm hardly talking about friendship! I was talking about all the things we could have been, if you hadn't gone after this precious Lord of yours!" Clarkson snapped. "Good night, Lady Merton."

He left her standing stunned her and hastened towards the foyer, where Molseley helped him into his coat. Still perplexed by the incident, Isobel did her best to recover. Lost in her thoughts she remained in the foyer, unaware of her surroundings, in fact unaware of her husband who had witnessed the whole scene from a safe distance in the shadows of the pillars. She startled when he stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Isobel?"

"Dickie!"

"We should go in," he said indifferently.

"How long have you...?"

"What does it matter?" he asked, his arms locked behind his back and his face a mask of stone.

"It matters a lot!"

"I heard enough and here isn't the right place to talk about your relationship to Dr Clarkson."

He turned around and headed towards the drawing room. Isobel choked and wished she could do something to make him listen.

From the top of the stairs Isobel heard the voices of Mary and Edith. Realizing she couldn't break into tears right in the middle of the Abbey she did her best to put on a brave face while she waited for them. This was going to be a long evening.

 **~~tbc~~**

 ***Reviews and messages are highly appreciated. Let me know what you think!***


	7. My body will be one with you

**Thank you so much for all the reviews for chapter 6. I was truly overwhelmed by the response :-) Now enjoy the next installment and considered yourself warned: The rating is pushing towards M. Thanks to Gemenied for her editing. It always makes my writing better than it is!**

 **Chapter 7**

 **My body will be one with you, my heart will be caught in the whirls of your frenzy ~ Rabindranath Tagore**

The drive back to Cavenham was pure agony. The silence between them was becoming unbearable, but neither Isobel nor Dickie were prepared to break it.

They hadn't exchanged a word, a look or a touch after they had returned to the drawing room. She feared, the moment she talked to him, tried to clear up the unsaid, even if it meant to eliminate his doubts over her commitment to him, she would break down and tell him the truth.

But she wasn't ready. Not yet.

Right now she was too confused to think straight. Her mind was a kaleidoscope, a mix of broken pieces and unfitting details that kept revolving and didn't allow her to see the full picture. After their argument the patterns made even less sense.

After what had to be an eternity the car stopped in front of the house and the chauffeur opened the door for her. She climbed out and absent-minded as she was, she missed the step and struggled to keep her balance. She wanted to grab the driver's hand, but she missed it. Then, suddenly, she felt a firm arm around her waist. It was Dickie who had taken hold of her, before she could tumble.

"Careful!"

She drew a deep breath, her hands against his chest. "I'm sorry," was all she uttered.

He didn't release her, instead he held her a little longer than necessary. He hadn't touched her in weeks and it was painful to realize how much she was longing for a loving gesture from him. She felt his breath on her face and smelled his fading cologne. She fought the temptation to reach up to touch his beloved face with her finger tips. She knew her reaction to his nearness was insane after his earlier accusations. Nevertheless she couldn't deny her physical attraction to him.

It would be so easy to lean against him now, to use the chance to break down the invisible wall between them...

Determined not to give in, she straightened her back and thanked him for helping her.

"I was just being clumsy."

She bid the driver good night and walked inside, avoiding any further contact with her husband.

* * *

 **The artful dodger, a pub in York**

Igor Kuragin found Edward in his shabby bedroom over the pub. An empty bottle of whiskey lay next to the bed, on which Edward was loudly snoring.

Kuragin sighed. He had hoped to find the man in a better state now that he had finally located him. Annoyed he picked up the bottle and placed it on the small stool next to the bed. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed an old photograph underneath an old newspaper with Larry's picture on it. He picked it up, sure to be mistaken, but the longer he looked at it, the more he realized he wasn't wrong. He knew the woman in the picture. She was younger, but her features were quite distinctive.

He looked down at the sorry figure on the bed and hid the photograph in the pocket of his jacket. He needed to see Violet first thing in the morning.

* * *

 **Cavenham Park**

About one hour after her almost fall, Isobel was alone in her bedroom. She had changed for the night, but she wasn't the [in] least tired. Her mind was still working overtime and sleep was nothing but an illusion. But at least the mist in her head had started to clear.

It had been foolish to think Dr Clarkson would help her. Before tonight she had thought he had overcome his feelings for her, but apparently she had been mistaken. Right now Dickie possibly thought the worst of her.

At this moment both men stood against her and she had to find a way out of the trap she had set for herself.

People said 'The truth will set you free'. She didn't know if this applied to her, but perhaps it was her only chance to minimize the damage she had caused. Bracing herself for the inevitable, Isobel rose from her chair, but on her way to the door, she stopped. The doorknob was turning and Dickie came in. She was holding her breath, waiting for him to say something. He closed the door and buried his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then she was the one who finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

"I was on my way to you. I think we need to talk."

"Yes, me too."

"Whatever you think is going on between Dr Clarkson and me, is wrong," she explained, her voice shaking.

"Is it?" he asked. "I doubt any truth can be worse than my imagination."

She vividly shook her head, "It's all a misunderstanding."

"I doubt I misunderstand his feelings for you. In fact, I've been aware of them for some time, but I didn't think you were using them to your advantage."

Her jaw dropped, "I did no such thing!"

"Are you sure? You have a way of ignoring other peoples' feelings when it suits you."

Isobel swallowed hard. Whatever she had expected from him, it wasn't that. "If that's what you think about me, you should go!" She waltzed past him, ready to throw him out. She reached the door, but she couldn't open it, because all of the sudden he was right behind her. His hands were placed against the door, trapping her between himself and the only way out.

He leaned in, his weight against her and his hot breath tickled the skin on the back of her neck. A violent sob was stuck in her throat, but with him so close after rejecting her for so long, she found it hard to breathe. The knot in her chest was about to burst, when she felt his mouth on her neck and his hands on her waist.

Isobel felt how her back connected with the wooden door, as he turned her so that she had to face him. His gaze was intense, almost burning her skin. His height had never been more impressive than right now. She tried to avoid his eyes but he grabbed her by the back of her neck and forced her to hold his gaze. With a rough stroke of his thumb he brushed over her cheek, leaving a strange sensation on her skin. Her breath grew heavier, her chest rose and fell more and more rapidly. He leaned in even closer, eliminating the physical distance between them. She felt his arousal through the layers of their clothes and her mouth went dry, while her face suddenly felt incredibly hot. His free hand ran over her upper body and inside her silk robe where it caressed her left breast through the thin silk of her nightgown. She hissed upon the touch, wishing her body didn't react with such intensity. Though still covered by her nightwear, she felt utterly exposed to him.

"I don't want to go," he whispered against her parted lips.

"So?" she breathed, repressing a sigh as his hand let go of her breast and moved down her sides. His lips were brushing hers, but he resisted the temptation to kiss her.

"Is it too much asked to be your sole confidant? To be the only the man in your life?" he asked.

"There's no one else," she returned lowly and closed her eyes, as his hand slipped between them again. This time he found the way underneath her nightgown and fondled her naked skin. She sighed into his mouth, when his fingertips ran up her thigh.

"It's only you," she affirmed again, feeling how the heat within her core spread further and further until it reached every fiber of her being. "Only you."

She reached up to touch him. She cupped his face in her hands and pulled him closer, her mouth now finally meeting his. The kiss was raw, almost cruel, because the built-up tension was too much to bear. It burst violently and her head was spinning wildly, as she gasped for air.

* * *

The darkness in the bedroom seemed to suffocate him. Isobel had fallen asleep, but he was still wide awake, trapped in his own private hell.

After tonight, he felt disgusted with himself. He had never experienced a sexual encounter like this with a woman before. It had been rough, almost ruthless, and devastatingly satisfying.

He had bruised her soft, milky skin where his hands had grabbed her hips. He had marked her with his mouth and hands, taking total possession of her body. With every hard thrust he had claimed her as his and every time she had cried out his name he'd felt like warrior who had conquered the alien country. Her nails had left traces all over his upper body and her cries for more still rang in his ears. No woman had ever made love to him like this.

With his first wife he had given up on visits to her bedroom after Tim had been born and he had never heard a word of objection from her. Of course, he could have taken a mistress like so many other men did, but he also didn't see the point of being with someone he didn't love or couldn't built a future with.

All that had changed with Isobel. With her his life suddenly had value. She wasn't the first woman he had fallen in love with, but he had never loved a woman like he loved her. Until the moment he realized she had confided in Dr Clarkson he had believed she loved him just as unconditionally, as he loved her.

Why did she go to Clarkson with her problems? A man who was head over heels in love with her? The heated argument between them, he had witnessed at the Abbey, had caused him to snap. He wasn't used to jealousy, he had never experienced it, and the intensity of the emotion had overwhelmed him. It had pushed aside his grief over the loss of his son and had resulted in him losing control.

He felt her stirring next to him. She moaned in her sleep and her hand came to rest on his chest. He startled upon the unexpected touch. He wasn't sure she wanted to see his face when she woke up. Gently he pushed her hand aside and pushed himself out of the bed.

Isobel was instantly awake when she felt him moving next to her. Her eyes flew open and she reached over to touch him, but his pillow was already empty. It took her eyes a few seconds to get used to the darkness, but then she detected him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Don't go!" She pushed herself up, ignored her protesting, aching muscles and wrapped her arms around his upper body. "Stay here," she whispered pressing her naked body against him.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," he said huskily. "I'm sorry about earlier. Did I … did I hurt you?"

"No. I wanted it. I wanted you." She kissed his neck and intensified the grip of her hands on his chest. "But we will hurt each other if keep running away from each other."

"So, what do you suggest?" he asked quietly.

She held her breath and made a decision the consequences of which she couldn't foresee. "I'll tell you about Edward, if that's what you want. I'm not sure it'll be to our benefit. I'm not even sure you will still want me after I told you about him, but I see that you deserve to know the truth."

 **~~tbc~~**

 ***Let me know what you think. Comments are always appreciated!***


	8. I'm not going to tell the story

**Here we go again! Sorry for the delay, but life has been very busy lately. Enjoy the next installment! This one is quite heavy with backstory and perhaps uncomfortable subjects, so please note that this chapter is rated M.**

 **Chapter 8**

 **I'm not going to tell the story the way it happened. I'm going to tell it the way I remember it.**

Shivering a little when the light of the bedside lamp was switched on, Isobel looked around to find her robe. She detected it on the floor. It had ended up next to the bed, together with her nightgown and his pyjamas. Dickie tied own his robe and picked it up for her.

"Thank you," she said, as she cuddled herself into the comfortable piece of clothing. Dickie sank down next to her, eager to give her enough space.

"His name is Edward Channing," Isobel started in a low voice. "He was a friend of Reginald's at university, and I met him when he and Reginald started working at my father's hospital."

"He's a doctor?" Dickie asked surprised.

Isobel nodded pensively, "Yes. Just like Reginald he wanted to specialize in paediatrics, but in the end he became a surgeon. He was very devoted and talented. I was young and quite smitten with him, but my father didn't want me to marry him. He thought I was too young and so I trained as a nurse and went to South Africa during the first Boer war. As did Reginald. We fell in love and after a few months I knew I could never marry anyone else."

Dickie's jaws tightened. He really didn't want to hear any this. Not of her loving other men or how she had fallen for her first husband. But he had insisted she'd tell him and now he had to deal with it.

"Go on."

"I broke off my engagement to Edward and I'm afraid he took it rather hard. He disappeared for days... he got drunk and ended up in police custody. Reginald helped him out and even convinced my father to give Edward a job. It wasn't easy at first, but after some time he seemed to have adjusted to the situation. When Matthew was born he became his godfather. He never got married, but I thought it better not to ask why and so did Reginald."

"I guess he never got over you."

Isobel shrugged defeated. "I think he never got over the illusion of what could have been," she said bitterly. "One day Reginald came home and told me, Edward had a severe problem with alcohol. He had caught him drunk during night shift and he threatened to sack him, if it continued. Soon the inevitable happened. A patient died on Edward's watch, because he made a mistake with her medication. One nurse reported it to the police, which started investigating. In the end they couldn't prove anything, but we realized it couldn't go on like this."

"And what happened then?"

"The family of the patient threatened to sue the hospital, but Reginald could avoid a scandal. He paid the family off and Edward had to leave the hospital."

"I guess he wasn't happy with the arrangement," Dickie mused.

"No...," Isobel lowered her head onto her knees. After a few moments she looked up again. "He fell on hard times, didn't find a new job. A few weeks later one of our nurses came to see Reginald and me and told us she was pregnant with Edward's baby. She was so young and so incredible frightened, because she knew about his drinking problem and that he could become quite violent, if things didn't go his way..." She broke off and Dickie sensed how difficult it was for her to find the right words.

"And?"

"She didn't want to tell him and asked Reginald to help her." Isobel gave her husband a meaningful look. "He refused at first, but..."

"You convinced him to do it?" He asked lowly.

Isobel nodded. "You know, it was her decision and if she had married Edward he would only have made her life miserable."

Dickie sighed, trying not to judge a situation, which had taken place a long time ago. "I don't assume this kind of procedure was part of his usual line of treatments."

"No. The whole thing almost destroyed Reginald. He felt guilty, became ill and for several months things were quite rocky between us, because I wanted him to do it."

"And Mr Channing?"

"One day the woman's conscience got the better of her and she told him everything. He became furious and attacked Reginald during surgery. I was there and once he saw me, he lost it completely. I think he's never hated anyone in his life the way he hated me in this moment. He blamed me for everything and called me all names you can imagine. He was... completely out of control."

"I'm sorry." Dickie reached out to touch her hand. She took it, grateful, for his support. But there was something that was still bothering him. As horrible as all of this was, it couldn't have been the reason for Isobel's uncharacteristic behaviour.

He gently took her chin and made her face him. He had this inkling there was even more than she had just told him. "What else happened?"

She hesitated again. In her eyes he saw the desperate fight between right and wrong. The choice between truth and lie. "All right... Reginald died the year Matthew had been accepted into Oxford. I think it was the last good news Reginald received before he died. I think it gave him peace to know his son was going to live the life he had wanted for him." She swallowed hard and removed his hand from her face to squeeze it.

"I'm sure it did."

"Anyway, one afternoon, when Matthew was not at home, Edward showed up at our house."

"What did he want?"

"He was bankrupt and needed money. He blamed Reginald and me for ruining his life. At first I refused to pay him. I knew if I gave in once, he would never leave me alone, but..."

"But what?"

She swallowed hard, as if she was about to get sick. "He was persistent... ugly and he became violent."

Dickies' eyed widened in horror. "What did he do to you?"

"He hit me. Several times and he wanted to... assault me, but he couldn't go through with it, with the result that he became even angrier. A maid overheard us and she helped me. She hit him with a chair, he became unconscious." She quickly wiped a tear from her cheek. "When he woke up I gave him some money and got him out of the house, before Matthew came home."

"Oh God!" Horrified, he pulled her into his arms and held her. He kissed her hair and rocked her like child. "I'm so sorry! I wish you had told me sooner! Did you report him to the police?"

She shook her head. "I did, but Edward had vanished by the time they found out where he lived. I decided to leave it alone."

"But the man is dangerous!"

Isobel shook her head, "I didn't want Matthew to know any about it. I didn't want him to know what his father had to go through because of Edward. I never heard of him since the day he hit me. I thought he had been gone for good."

"And now he is back," Dickie said darkly. "But he won't hurt you again. I promise you that."

* * *

 **Dower House, the next day**

It was unusual for Violet to be up and about before half past eight, but she hadn't slept a wink. The lingering fear of something being deeply wrong had kept her up all night. After the dinner at the Abbey she had started to be sincerely worried about the state of Isobel's marriage.

After Isobel 's excursion to the nursery the tension between her and Lord Merton had been almost palpable. The couple had not even looked at each other for the rest of the evening and deep down Violet feared for the worst. In addition to all of this she had received a letter from Prince Kuragin, which still made her uncomfortable. His message had been short, urgent and full of regret. He couldn't visit her, because there had been an unforeseen problem. Violet knew Igor Kuragin better than he knew himself. The man she knew would never stand up a woman without a very good reason - or in this case a dramatic reason.

So, all she could do now was resigning that to the fact that she had to wait for him. Perhaps it was divine justice, because she had forced him to wait for her answer in the first place.

Violet had just settled down at her desk to write to Isobel, when Spratt announced his entrance.

"You have a visitor, your Ladyship," he said stiffly. Perhaps he was miffed someone dared to come by at this early hour.

"Who is it?"

"It is Prince Kuragin."

Stunned, Violet rose and grabbed her cane.

"I certainly haven't expected to see you!" she said, once Spratt was gone. "Not after your last letter."

"I'm sorry for my early call," Kuragin said. "But it's urgent."

Violet's face lost its smile. His earnest demeanour scared her. "Is something wrong?"

"That's why I am here. I need to talk to you." He looked around and gave her a meaningful gaze. "Perhaps we should take a little walk. I have never seen your garden."

She understood the subtle hint and rang for Spratt.

"I think the prince and I will take a walk outside. It's such a beautiful morning. Will you call for Denker?" she asked, leaving Spratt even more miffed.

* * *

 **Dower House, Garden**

"I'm sorry, I haven't told you about my coming here earlier. I admit it was a spontaneous decision," Kuragin said. He and Violet were slowly strolling through the gardens. Side by side. Violet wished she could have abandoned her cane for the walk, but her arthritis didn't allow her to take longer walks without support.

"I admit you had me worried I might have lost my touch," Violet answered.

Kuragin grinned, "You haven't. On the contrary... I would love to prove this right now, but I'm afraid a gardener might hide between the rhododendrons."

She chuckled, amused by the idea. "So, what kept you away?"

Kuragin sighed, "Last week you went to a funeral."

Violet stopped in her tracks, surprised. "Yes, I did."

"I was there too, but I stayed away and watched it from afar."

"Why would you do that?" Violet asked astonished.

"I knew Lord Merton's son. I wish I had never met him, but I did."

"Everybody said so once they had crossed paths with him," Violet said dryly. "But how did you meet him? I doubt it was Dickie Merton's idea to introduce you."

"It wasn't. We met in York and right before he died Mr Grey lost a fortune to me when we played cards."

Violet gasped, "You gambled with him?"

"Yes, and he was a lousy player. But I have nothing to do with his death," Kuragin clarified, before Violet could ask the inevitable question. Sensing where this was leading, Violet placed her free hand on his arm. "You know what happened that night, don't you?"

"Yes." Kuragin sighed and reached into his pocket and handed Violet the old photograph he had found in Edward's room. Violet stared at the old picture in bewilderment.

"I think the lady is a common friend of ours."

"That's Isobel and... Matthew... I'm afraid you've lost me."

"I found it in the room of the person who is responsible for young Mr Grey's death," Igor explained. "I took it for safe keeping."

"That was a good idea," Violet said, as her thumb ran gently over the picture. Never

before she had seen a picture of Matthew as a young boy and now she almost regretted it. He shared a stunning resemblance with little George. "Do you know the man's name?" she asked, in a husky voice.

"Only his first name. It's Edward. Has Lady Merton ever mentioned him to you?" He had noticed Violet's sudden dismay and reacted with growing concern. So his inkling had been right.

"I'm afraid she has," Violet answered sorrowful. "I think we should go back to the house. I'm a bit cold."

"As you wish. What should we do now?" he asked.

"I don't know," Violet admitted. "But I doubt we can keep it under the rug for very long."

"Will you tell Lady Merton about it?"

"I'm not sure... I think I need a day or two to decide." She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled at him. "Can I invite you for a cup of tea or perhaps for luncheon?"

"You don't have to feed me every time I pay you a visit. I might be a refugee, but I won't die from starvation," he said amused.

 **~tbc~**


	9. O, beware, my Lord, of jealousy

**Here we go again. Sorry for the delay, but it couldn't be helped. Enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!**

 **Chapter 9**

 **O, beware, my Lord, of jealousy**

 **York, two days later**

Richard Clarkson hurried out of the local train station. He was late for his appointment with the head physician of the Royal Yorkshire County Hospital, but the train had been delayed. He hastened through the busy streets and almost ran into a bus when he crossed the street. He swore under his breath, almost overlooking a man who passed him. The first and last time he had seen him, the man had looked rather dishevelled and beaten up. Today he was just one of many people around him. Clarkson observed him with growing curiosity, as he vanished inside a pub with the colourful name _"The Bleeding Wolf"_.

How very fitting, the doctor thought. Edward whoever he was had indeed something of a wounded wolf. And weren't wounded wolves the most dangerous of their kind?

Bitterly Clarkson thought of Isobel and her request. The money she had given to him was hidden in the drawer of his desk. Locked away, so that no one else could take it. He was still waiting for her to take it back, but he hadn't seen her since that horrible evening at the Abbey. He had made a big mistake that night. He was used to being infuriated by her. God knew she had infuriated him from the first day she had set foot into his hospital, but with her constant refusal to tell him the truth she had driven him over the edge. Did she really think she could use him like some errand boy? It hurt to know she wanted to use him to pay off some former lover who had probably threatened to tell her husband, or worse the papers, about their former relationship.

For a brief second he contemplated to go after Edward to confront him. But then he remembered how angry Isobel had looked at him during their argument and he decided to let it go. She was someone else's wife and not his responsibility. It was none of his business. He stole a glance at his watch and realized he was definitely late for his appointment.

* * *

Violet stared at the door right in front of her and drew a deep breath. She hesitated to use the knocker. The last time she had entered Igor Kuragin's English home she had been the one who got away. The reason for today's visit was to stay for longer than a bad cup of tea. After a deep breath she pulled herself together and knocked.

Seconds later she heard steps and braced herself to face him. The door opened and her jaw dropped in disappointment. It wasn't Igor Kuragin. It was a woman in a black dress. Someone she had never seen before. She was tall and slim with bright green eyes and a severe old fashioned hairdo. It was the look of a woman who could easily be forty or sixty years old. Violet recovered quickly from the shock and put on her most charming Dowager face.

"Yes, please?" the woman asked without returning the older woman's smile.

"I came to see Mr Kuragin," Violet explained kindly. "Is he in?" She hated to ask for him without using his proper title, but she knew he wanted it that way. Here in England he was just a refugee without legal status and no one knew who he was or what he had been once.

"Lady Grantham!" He appeared behind the woman and smiled at Violet.

"There you are! I have some books here," Violet said quickly, holding up a filled bag. "A little bird told me, you asked for some serious reading."

"Thank you, Mrs Cooper," Igor said to the woman who just stared at Violet suspiciously. "I appreciate your help."

"You are welcome, Mr Kuragin. You know where to find me," she said, now exposing her northern accent. She nodded coldly and passed Violet on her way out.

"Come in." Igor stepped aside, allowing Violet to enter his new home. She went in with low expectations and was in for a surprise. After having seen his former apartment, Violet was glad to see his new accommodation was a friendly, dry place. The furniture was modest, but intact. The fire in the oven spread some pleasant warmth and she smelled tea – real tea, not the disgusting sludge he had offered her a year earlier.

He pointed at the chair at a small table next to the fireplace. "It's not perfect yet, but it's dry and warm," he said, as she gave him the bag. "Do you want some tea? I swear it's hot."

"Thank you."

He busied himself with the kettle and said, "I've got a letter for you. It's for Lord Merton. It's on the table." Curiously Violet picked up the envelope.

"Are you really sure about this?" she asked doubtfully.

"You still don't think I should tell him?"

"I think you should handle the matter very carefully," Violet said and opened her purse to store the letter. "I don't know how we will take the news about your gambling partner."

"Unfortunately, truth is all I have to offer him. The money I've won allows me to offer you more than a mouldy room and torn sheets."

She tried to ignore the implication behind his remark. "Who was she?" she asked, as she removed her gloves. Astonished he stopped bothering with contents of the bag and looked up. Her voice had sounded amused, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that he had almost completely forgotten about. "I was wondering if you can afford to maintain two women," Violet added smugly.

"She's my landlady. She was kind enough to mend some of my socks." He abandoned the books on the table and sat down next to her. She escaped his first attempt to take her hand, but he was quick. He grabbed it again and pulled it gently to his lips.

"You're jealous," he concluded, his eyes beaming with pride and happiness. His lips brushed over the back of her hand, a feeling that – against her wish - caused her to warm up.

"Don't be ridiculous," she retorted though her cheeks coloured.

"She's just mending my clothes." He smiled, satisfied that she didn't attempt to withdraw from him again. "I'm not exactly used – or talented – to take care of my clothes. I have two left hands when it comes to sewing and stitching."

"So these are the only labours of love she grants you?" she asked snappily.

"They are the only ones I'm interested in," he said, his eyes still fixed on her face. "The only love I seek is yours."

"Perhaps you should tell her that, because I don't believe she's just interested in taking care of your socks."

He released her hand with a deep chuckle and leaned back. "I love you. But you know that, don't you? That's why you're here."

"I'm here to bring you books. I imagine you might want some intellectual input." The sparkle in her eyes was a challenge, he couldn't resist. Violet's style of flirting had always fascinated him and so he obliged.

"And that's all?" he asked, ready to play her game. "A lot of effort for an old foreigner…."

She shrugged, "As it happens I know a lot of foreign people. Some of them are widely read."

"And you play the librarian for all of them?"

"Only when they're worth the effort."

"Am I worth it?" he asked cheekily.

"I'm afraid that'll depend on you and your landlady's eagerness to attend [to] your needs."

"Would it help to admit that I don't want her… that I only want you?" He broke the established eye contact and let his eyes travel down to her mouth, where they lingered for several moments, before they continued their journey downwards. Every time he did that she felt utterly exposed and given away. He'd always had a way of undressing her with his eyes that should infuriate a proper lady, but it only aroused her. It had been like that fifty years ago and the feeling hadn't changed over the years. Her heart raced in her chest and suddenly she was torn between the wish to run away and the wish to kiss him.

"I'm not sure it would make things less complicated," she replied.

"It's not so complicated," he said, his eyes still appraising her.

"How is it that it's always easy for men to say 'it's not complicated'?" she asked mockingly.

Igor grinned in response and leaned forward again to take her hand. "I remember a time when a certain lady came to me. I was in my suite at the Winter Palace, surrounded by my advisers, and she just marched in, wrapped in a fur and a green dress – and nothing underneath. None of this was complicated back then."

Violet, who had blushed when he told his story, cleared her throat. She remembered the afternoon when she went to see him, driven by blinding desire and hunger for him. It had been a brazen and in retrospect stupid move, but enjoyable nevertheless. "I don't think I remember her. And I'm not sure it was at the Winter Palace."

"Oh, it was," he reassured her. "I remember every second of it. I remember what you looked like, what you tasted like. Everything."

A sensible woman shouldn't be in his room, Violet thought, with a hint of cynicism in her mind. A sensible and well-bred lady would go and try to forget the conversation had ever happened. A sensible woman wouldn't allow him to close the distance between them so that he could not only kiss the knuckles of her hand, but also her lips.

* * *

 **Cavenham**

In the late afternoon Isobel lay in the bathtub and tried not to fall asleep. Saying she was exhausted was an understatement. The last time she had felt this tired had been the weeks and months after Matthew's death. Her confession to Dickie had made her feel better, but it hadn't completely eliminated the fear inside her. This morning she had received another letter from Edward Channing. It was another letter she was hiding from her husband, but this time she was determined for him not to find it. She had always known Edward wouldn't leave just like that. For whatever reason he had come back for her and it was only a matter of time, before he would show up at Cavenham.

Ultimately she needed to find a way to get rid of him and that meant she had to seek him out.

This matter was nothing but a power struggle between them. It had started many decades ago when she had refused to marry him because of Reginald. He had never gotten over it. He had never forgiven her. And she had allowed him to push her around again. This time not physically, but mentally. She had risked her marriage to keep him and everything of their ugly history a secret. She was lucky to have a husband who loved her despite her disastrous attempt to keep her secrets. Yet Edward had to be dealt with somehow. She couldn't allow him to disrupt her life like this. It had to stop as soon as possible and she would see to it.

But before that she also needed to get the money back from Dr Clarkson. It was another visit she was not looking forward to, but she realized it was useless to put it off much longer. Perhaps she should also give up her involvement with the hospital for good. After their argument at the Abbey it was impossible to continue their friendship as it was. She couldn't risk her marriage remain friends with a man who wanted more than she had to give.

Isobel sighed at the prospect and decided it was time to get out of the tub. The water was getting cold and if she lay down now she could at least take a short nap before dinner.

She was about to get up when she heard a soft knock at the bathroom door.

"Yes?"

"Isobel?" The door opened and Dickie came in and stopped in his tracks when he saw her. "Oh, I'm sorry. I disturb you."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're back early," she said surprised. "How was York?"

"Worse than I thought," he admitted and looked around, almost nervous. "The lawyer said Larry was hopelessly bankrupt."

"How's that?" Isobel asked astonished.

Dickie sighed. "It looks as if he has lost a lot of money at the gambling table."

"Oh Dickie, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said wearily. "I won't kill me to pay off some people. I told our lawyer to handle it. Hopefully we will never hear of it again." He looked around. "Where's your maid?" he asked curiously.

"I gave her the afternoon off," Isobel explained. "I needed some time alone. I'm not used to have someone around me all the time."

"You're quite a lone warrior, aren't you?" he asked pensively.

"I guess I've become one," she said. "Will you hand me the towel?" she asked, pointing at the towel rail at the wall.

"So much for female independence," he joked mildly, but obliged her. He opened the towel and she gave him a teasing glance.

"I think I need some more help," she said lowly. His eyes lingered upon her body, as she gracefully rose from the water. "That's quite risqué for a lady," he said without taking his eyes from her.

"I think you can handle me," she returned, luring him with her finger. With a smile on his face he motioned towards her and wrapped the towel around her body and pulled her against him, his hand on her hips. She relaxed and rested her forehead against his chin. For the first time in weeks she felt safe and content enough to let go of the tension that had been occupying her.

"Look at me," he demanded tenderly. She slowly lifted her head and met his eyes. Her lips curved into a smile when she saw the love in them. She reached up to touch his cheek with her hand. She chuckled and pulled back when she realized she was dripping wet and would ruin his clothes if she didn't get out of the tub first.

"Your clothes will get wet," she whispered against his lips.

"So be it," he replied and kissed her. She closed her eyes and relished in the delight his kiss caused her. Her lips parted only too willingly for his tender demand of entrance and her arms sneaked around his neck. His hands ran up her sides, gently tracing her delicate curves. The towel dropped slowly and ended in the water, leaving her exposed to him. Her skin tickled everywhere he touched her. The pleasant warmth in her core developed into a heat that was spreading swiftly through her veins. She became breathless and moaned shamelessly into his mouth when his hand found its way between her thighs.

"Let me get out of here," she mumbled weakly. "Or we could end up having a lot of explaining to do."

With a chuckle he stepped back and allowed her to get out of the tub. He pulled her again into his embrace and they kissed with growing hunger, as they made their way into their bedroom.

* * *

"I've been thinking about something," Isobel said later, when she lay in Dickies' arms, her head resting on his shoulder and her hand caressing his chest. "I'll go to the hospital tomorrow."

She felt how he tensed and added quickly. "To get the money back and to tell Dr Clarkson that I will lay down my commission."

"You want to give up your work at the hospital?" he asked in disbelief.

"I think I have to," she stated matter-of-factly. "I don't think Dr Clarkson and I can ever work together again. It would be too awkward."

"I don't want you to give it all up for me," he said, guilt unmistakably colouring his voice. With great discomfort he remembered his rage of jealousy when he had witnessed Dr Clarkson and Isobel at the Abbey.

She lifted her head to have a look at his face. "It's not because of you," she explained. "It's me. I think it's best to move on."

"But you've invested too much…." She placed her finger on his lips, causing him to fall silent. "It's all right," she said. "I've already made my decision."

"Are you sure?"

She leaned forward to kiss him, "Yes."

He knew it was impossible to stop her, once she had made up her mind. He wouldn't argue with her if she wanted to end her friendship with Dr Clarkson, on the contrary, but he didn't want her to feel forced to do it, because he was jealous.

"I want you to be happy," he said.

"I am happy with you," she answered softly and kissed him again. "And don't you worry. I'll find something else to occupy myself with!"

They chuckled. "I don't doubt it," he agreed, but sobered up quickly. "But you have to promise me it won't involve Mr Channing by any means!"

Isobel lowered her head back onto his chest and closed her eyes. For a long time she just listened to his strong heartbeat, before she finally said, "He won't leave me alone. I don't know why he's back, but I know he won't leave before he got what he came for."

"But you won't give it to him," he said determined. "I'll find a way, if you want me to, but I don't want you to get near to him. The man is dangerous. Promise me, you won't do anything foolish."

He kissed her hair and she nodded without facing him. "I promise I won't," she repeated lowly, knowing she would never keep that promise.

 **~tbc~**


	10. Have you ever heard of the hour

**Thank you all so very much for your lovely feedback! I'd also like to thank my wonderful beta Geminied. The girl is a true gem :-) I hope you will enjoy the next chapter. It's a bit dark, but there's no light without darkness, right?**

 **Chapter 10**

 **Have you ever heard of the hour of the wolf? ~ J. Michael Straczynski**

 **Cavenham Park, the next morning**

When Isobel came downstairs after breakfast, the butler told her that she had an early visitor waiting for her. Instant fear that Edward Channing was in her house overwhelmed her and so her question was hushed, "Who is it?"

"It's Doctor Clarkson, Your Ladyship. I wanted to inform you earlier, but he said he'd wait until you're downstairs. He's waiting in the library."

"Thank you." Isobel nodded, but the small wave of relief faded quickly, when she thought about the possible reason for the doctor's visit. Their last conversation had ended ugly and she was certain, he hadn't come to apologize. Bracing herself for a difficult conversation she straightened her back and entered the library.

"Dr Clarkson!" she greeted him as politely as possible. He was standing by the window, watching a couple of birds chasing one another. He turned around when he heard her voice.

"Good morning, Lady Merton," he said stiffly.

"What brings you here?" she asked.

"I think you know why I'm here," he said and reached inside his jacket. He put the envelope on a small table by the window. "It's yours."

"There was no need to bring it," she said. "I would have come to the hospital today anyway."

He raised his eyebrows. "I see. Well, I hope you'll find a solution for the problem with your old...," he broke off, trying to find a word that wouldn't be offensive. "Friend."

"I will," she said, her voice sounding more convinced than she actually was.

"At least I've seen your new home now." His eyes wandered up to the beautiful stuccowork at the ceiling and the richly filled shelves that covered the walls. "Quite a trade to Crawley House...," he remarked, a sour trace colouring his voice. "A big mansion, a butler, several footmen, and without a doubt a lady's maid. All the things you've always condemned as useless are now yours."

Tired of his bitterness and resentment, she asked. "What do you want, Dr Clarkson?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess I came here to ask you how things will go on."

"I wanted to write you and the other members of the board, but since you're already here, I can tell you in person. I've decided to lay down my position at the hospital."

He drew a sharp breath. "So, he's finally got you where he wanted you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lord Merton, your loving husband, has finally convinced you to give up everything that was important to you once. I never thought an insignificant man like him could hold such power over you!"

Isobel felt how her face became white. Cold anger rose within her and coloured her voice when she spoke again, "Not that it concerns you, but he asked me not to step down. It was my decision and if I ever had any doubts, you've just erased them completely."

"If that's what you need to tell yourself when you look into the mirror."

"I won't apologize for loving my husband."

"As if you've ever apologized for anything," he scoffed. "I've loved you, you know."

Isobel swallowed, "I'm sorry, but I can't give you what you want. I never could."

"I think you've made that clear more than once... Anyway, I guess that's it. I'll take my leave now. Goodbye, Lady Merton."

He nodded sharply at her and before he went to the door, he allowed his eyes to linger on her for a few more seconds. Then he opened his mouth, but the words he wished to say, remained stuck in his throat.

* * *

In the hallway the butler took Dickie's coat. "Is her Ladyship already downstairs?" he asked.

"She is," the butler confirmed. "She's in the library with a visitor."

Alarmed by the news, he asked. "Who is it?"

"It's Dr Clarkson," the butler answered.

"I see. Thank you."

Unsure what to expect he headed for the library. There he almost ran into Richard Clarkson,who had just opened the door and stopped annoyed in his tracks when he saw Dickie.

"Lord Merton," he said frostily.

Dickie ignored the cold greeting and asked politely, "Are you already leaving, Doctor?"

"Yes, I am," Clarkson confirmed. "It's about time." He looked over his shoulder one last time, to where Isobel stood and watched them. "She's all yours."

* * *

 **The Bleeding Wolf, a pub in York**

Isobel entered the pub, feeling most uneasy. The prospect of coming face to face with Edward again was burdening her, but what weighed much heavier was the fact that she had lied to Dickie. She had promised him to stay away, yet she did the exact opposite and she already loathed herself for doing it. She knew Dickie wanted his lawyer to pay off Edward. As a matter of fact, Dickie had already spoken to him to arrange a meeting, but she knew that would never do the trick. Edward didn't just want the money. He wanted her to deliver it. In his last letter he had been unmistakably clear about the terms and she wanted to delay the matter no longer. Once she was home tonight, she would tell Dickie what she had done and she hoped he would forgive her. But for now she had to force herself to go through with the meeting.

"I'm looking for a Mr Channing," she said to the man behind the bar. He mustered her with narrowed eyes and for a second she feared he knew who she was. The last thing she needed was gossip.

"He's upstairs in his room," the barman said and pointed at the narrow and dark staircase. "Second door on the right."

"Thank you."

With shaking knees she went upstairs. She was scared. She had seen Edward losing his temper more than once. And one time she had suffered dearly from his vile outburst, but she knew by now that scaring her was his method of torturing her. He wanted her to feel small and helpless. It was his revenge on her, his way of holding power over her. But not this time.

Now more determined she walked along the hallway. It was dusty and the air was thick with cold smoke and old sweat. The small windows were dirty and made the grey sky outside even darker.

When she reached the door she raised her gloved hand to knock. Inside she heard rustling and then steps. She unconsciously withdrew when he opened the door.

A wide grin appeared on his face. "My, my…. You took your time." His eyes travelled appreciatively up and down her body, which caused her throat to tighten. He hadn't been this revolting the last time she had met him, but then they were alone now. Back at the hospital he couldn't be sure not be seen by someone.

She was glad to be covered with a thick woollen coat and a long scarf. Her attire was still black, since she and Dickie were still in mourning over Larry's death.

She didn't dignify his remark with an answer and so he invited her in. "Mi casa est su casa," he said, almost cheerfully.

Once she heard the door closing behind her, she felt bile rising in her throat and swallowed it down as quickly as possible. She hated being exposed to him in this disgusting room. His clothes were spread along the room and it was obvious it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. The bed was a mess of dirty sheets and the mere sight of it was enough to cause her another wave of sickness.

"I've got your money," she said with all the dignity she could muster.

"That's at least something at least."

She opened her purse and took out the envelope Dr Clarkson had given her the day before. She tossed it onto the table.

"I guess that is it," she said.

"Not quite yet. Wait," he said and slowly picked up the envelope. He opened it and counted the money with his thumb.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped at him.

"Better safe than sorry," he mused. "With you a man can never know. Wouldn't be the first time you set me up."

"I've never set you up," Isobel clarified. "You did it all to yourself!"

Edward stopped counting the money and looked up to meet her eyes. "So, you're here, because you don't feel ashamed of yourself?"

"Why should I?"

"Because you cheated on me with my best friend and later convinced him to kill my child," he said coldly and put the money back on the table. It was obvious this wasn't about the money, but she had known so before. This was about him and his twisted imagination. "I wonder, if the people, who admire you so much, know the real you."

"You're delusional," she said angrily. "You always were and you always will be." She turned on her heels and headed for the door.

"Does your husband know you're here?" he asked resentfully, causing her to stop in her tracks. "My guess is, he doesn't, otherwise he would be here to defend what's left of your honour."

Against her better judgement she asked, "What does it matter to you?"

"It matters a lot. It means you're hiding something from your precious lord," he chuckled. "Tell me, Mylady, what does he know about the unfortunate death of his son?"

"I beg your pardon?" She turned around, utterly confused, and again his eyes mustered every detail of her appearance.

"You're in mourning, aren't you? It was all over the papers that your step son died in a car accident."

"What's it you?" she wanted to know. The devious expression on his face made her feel more uneasy than ever. There was this insane glitter in his eyes that set her on edge.

"The Artful Dodger... That was the pub where he spent his last few hours. He was drinking and gambling – with me." He waited until the news had settled in, before he continued, "And when he had lost the last button he started a fight."

Cold fear was now creeping up on her. "Go on," she ordered breathlessly.

"I saw how he died," he said. "I made sure he wouldn't get up from the street to save his own sorry neck."

Her head started spinning and the bile was back in her throat. That couldn't be. It didn't make sense. It was impossible. But while her brain tried to understand what he was telling her, he kept talking.

"You killed my child and I killed yours."

Isobel shook her head. He was lying. He must be lying, because it couldn't be.

"You're a liar. How could you have known who he was?" she asked, challenging him.

Edward grinned, as if he had expected her question. "It was fate. He was quite a babbler, you know. And the more he drank, the more he told me about his life. How much he hated you. How you married his father for his money and his status. It reminded me of Reginald. It was the same with him. You went after him when you realized he was the one who would get all the reputation and the money. Anyway, we were talking about Mr Grey, your husband's son... your step son. It was so easy… so very easy to kill him."

"I don't believe you." She needed to go. She had to leave the room, before she stopped breathing. Her heart was exploding in her chest and tears burned in her eyes. If any of this was true… she didn't dare to think it through.

She rushed out and as she fled down the hallway his words haunted her, "I'll make sure your husband knows and if it's the last thing I do. He will learn I killed his oldest son, his heir, because of you. How long will his love for you last once he knows what you truly are? You'll find yourself on the street, before you know what hits you. You see, Darling, you took my life and now I take yours. An eye for an eye."

* * *

It had taken Kuragin ten pounds to find out where Edward lived, but once he had located him, he knew it had been worth every guinea. It was time the man answered some of his questions. Why did he carry a picture of Lady Merton? Could it be more than a coincidence that her step son had died after a struggle with him?

He understood from Violet's hesitant demeanour that she knew the truth about Edward and his relationship to Lady Merton, but didn't want to talk about it. He knew it wasn't because Violet didn't trust him. The truth behind all this was much more complex – and perhaps dangerous – than he had concluded at first.

The barman looked rather confused when Kuragin asked for Edward. Apparently, he wasn't the only visitor Edward had received today.

"He hasn't come down yet," the barman informed him. "He keeps to himself most of the time."

"Thank you," Kuragin groaned and left a pound note on the bar.

He went upstairs. It was already dark outside and there was just one tiny lamp in the hallway. Kuragin sighed and thanked God for the money he had won and which allowed him to live in better conditions than this.

He reached the door and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again and when he heard no one from the inside he turned the door handle. It wasn't locked. He pushed the door open. It was dark inside. He reached out to find the light switch. The sudden brightness blinded him for a short moment, but as soon as he opened his eyes again, he saw something that turned his blood into ice water.

The only chair in the room lay on the floor, knocked over. Above it the lifeless body of Edward Channing dangled from an old beam, hung by his own hand with a rope made of the dirty sheets of his bed.

 **~tbc~**


	11. Sometimes the truth isn't good enough

**I was (again) delighted by your wonderful response to the last chapter! I'm also eternally grateful to Gemenied who still hasn't give up on me and my writing. Thank you so much for sticking with me!**

 **Chapter 11**

 **Sometimes the truth isn't good enough**

Cavenham Park, night

Isobel couldn't remember a time in her life when she had felt this sick. Not even when she had been pregnant with Matthew – and back then she had been sick for months.

She had spent the better part of the night on her knees, throwing up, and now that her stomach was empty she was still sick. Edward Channing had poisoned her beyond help. He had finally managed to get under her skin. He had broken her. She had seen the pleasure it had given him and she didn't know how to fight him.

He had won after she had spent a lifetime of slipping away from him. Edward had known he couldn't hurt her physically. He couldn't rape her. Even if he had, it would not have broken her. He knew she was stronger than that and so he had taken the high road. He had killed Dickie's son.

With shaking knees Isobel rose and looked at her reflection. She flinched at what she saw in the mirror. She had become an old woman over night. Disgusted with herself she looked away. Otherwise she would have smashed the looking glass.

Her condition had worried Dickie very much and he had offered several times to call Dr Clarkson or any other doctor, but she had refused. She had told him she had just eaten something wrong. There was no fever or any other symptom that indicated anything worse than a touch of food poisoning. She had angrily snapped at him to leave her alone until she was better and so he had left, telling her maid to keep a close eye on her.

The truth was she couldn't have him close to her. Her guilt was so overwhelming that every time she saw him and the tender expression in his eyes, she felt nothing but self-hate.

Larry's death was her fault. Dickie had lost his son because of something she did. And the worst was, even if she could go back in time, she wouldn't change a thing. She would never trade her time with Reginald for anything. She would never have married Edward or allowed him to ruin the life of his girlfriend. She knew that his sick illusions were his problem, but it was no longer her alone who had to live the consequences, Dickie had to live with them too.

* * *

 **Dower Hours, the next day**

"What do you mean, you haven't given him the letter?" Kuragin asked, his voice darkened by anger. He was standing by the mantelpiece, staring into the fire. "Why not?"

"Because I don't think it'll help the matter. And after what you've told me today I'm even less convinced it would help Dickie Merton to know how his son died." Violet sighed as she sank into her chair. Her bones were giving her a hard time these days. Autumn was fast approaching. The drop of temperature and the damp days without much sun were taking their toll.

"That wasn't your decision to make," he said and faced her. The lines on his face had deepened and spoke volumes about the suppressed anger in him.

"Everything that concerns my family is my business and Cousin Isobel is family."

"Where is the letter?"

"It's safe," Violet assured him.

His eyes scanned the room and came to rest on her desk. With determined steps he crossed the room.

"Igor!" It took a lot of her strength to get up again. She suppressed the rising pain with a sharp hiss and followed him across the room.

"Igor Kuragin!" she repeated coldly, as he started to open her drawers and tossed the contents onto the desktop. "Will you stop that?! It's not there."

He stopped rummaging through her things, growling something in Russian. With slumped shoulders he sank onto a chair and sighed. Violet approached him and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I know how important this is for you," she said, her voice now warm and soft. "I promise I will talk to Isobel. He's her husband and she will know what to do."

Silence fell, but after a minute he reached up to take her hand. "You don't know what it means to lose a child," he said quietly.

She wanted to tell him that he shouldn't be too sure of it, but she decided to keep it to herself. There were things in her past she couldn't bother Igor with. Not at this point anyway.

"I'll telephone Cavenham and tell her to join us for tea tomorrow," Violet suggested. "Will that do?"

After a short hesitation he nodded. "Will you stay for dinner?" she asked gently, because she hated to think their afternoon together would end with an argument.

"I'm not even properly dressed," he argued mildly.

"I'll overlook that," Violet said generously. "My son always tells me the times are changing, so I guess it won't matter if you wore pyjamas and a nightcap."

* * *

 **Cavenham Park**

Isobel didn't notice when her husband entered their bedroom. She was sitting in bed, holding a cup with hot tea in her hand and staring into unseeingly ahead. The toast on the tray was untouched.

She startled when he approached her. "How are you feeling, Darling?"

Some hot tea spilled over her hand and she quickly faked a smile for him that didn't reach her eyes. "Better, I think."

He sank on the edge of the bed and looked at her cautiously, "You gave me quite a scare last night, you know. I was really worried."

"It was just a touch of food poisoning," she said, without looking him in the eyes. "Tomorrow I'll be up and about, as if nothing has happened."

"Are you sure?" he asked and pointed at the toast she hadn't touched. "You haven't eaten anything."

"I think my maid is talking too much."

"She's worried – as I am."

"I am sure," Isobel acknowledged and took a bite from her cold toast. "You see?" It tasted like sawdust and she fought the urge to spit it out again.

Dickie sighed unconvinced, but decided to let it go for the moment. "Lady Grantham telephoned this afternoon. She asks you for tea tomorrow. I told her you're ill."

Isobel shrugged, but he saw a glitter in her otherwise tired eyes that caught his attention, "Well, I don't see why I shouldn't go there."

"Don't you want to wait until you're sure you feel well enough?" he asked confused. "You still look awfully pale."

Isobel gave him a look, "That's not quite what a woman wants to hear from her husband when he's sitting on her bed."

He sighed, a little exasperated, "It's really true. Medical staff are the hardest to deal with when they're ill."

"I am not ill," Isobel insisted. "Just a little... worn out. I'll be fine tomorrow."

"We'll see about that," Dickie said and rose. "Should I tell them to get you anything else?"

Isobel looked into her tea cup and shook her head. "I don't think so. I think I'll start eating normally tomorrow."

"As you wish." He bent down to kiss her head and she wished he wouldn't. "I'll come back later."

Once he was gone, Isobel leaned back into her pillow and closed her eyes. She couldn't go on like this for much longer. She couldn't be near him and pretend that everything was all right while she waited for the inevitable to happen. One day Edward Channing would arrive here and tell Dickie the truth, so she had to do it before Edward could. She knew he counted on that. She knew he wanted her to destroy her own life with the truth.

Isobel doubted Violet would be of great help. She would probably tell her to lie like the devil to save her marriage, but at least she would listen to her. Even if her advice was useless, she was someone Isobel could entrust her secret to.

* * *

 **Dower House, the next day**

Isobel didn't believe her eyes when she entered the Dowager's drawing room and saw that Igor Kuragin was there.

She had hoped to have some time alone with Violet to discuss her problems, but she did her best not to appear too disappointed.

"It's nice to see you again," she said when she sank onto the chair opposite him. "How have you been doing?"

"I'm fine, Lady Merton," he answered and added. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. If I'd known you were here I had told Dickie to join us," Isobel said quickly. "I'm sure he would have loved to see you again."

"That's just it, dear," Violet tossed in. "We thought it best, if he weren't here."

"Lady Grantham thinks it's best," Kuragin corrected Violet. "She thinks you should decide what happens next."

Isobel didn't understand a thing. "I'm at a loss here," she admitted. "What are you talking about?"

The door opened and Spratt came in, serving tea and cake. Once he was gone again, Kuragin reached into his pocket and gave Isobel two envelopes.

"These are both for your husband."

Isobel looked at the letters and as soon as she recognized the hand writing on one of the letters addressed to Dickie she became pale and swallowed.

"You knew the man who wrote this letter, didn't you?" Kuragin asked.

Isobel looked up to meet Kuragins' eyes. He saw the mix of panic and disbelief on her face and added. "He's dead. He killed himself two days ago."

Isobel shook her head. "I don't believe this."

"It is true. I found him. I knew him. I'm not proud of it. Before he hanged himself, he gave the barman in the pub he lived in this letter, and asked him to post it. I got the man to give me the letter while we were waiting for the police."

Again Kuragin produced something out of his pocket and Isobels' eyes widened, when he gave her the photo of her and Matthew and another envelope. "I found this among his things. I thought you might want it back."

"I don't understand," she said while her finger tips ran tenderly across the old photograph.

"I can assure you there was nothing left in his room that indicates any connection to you or your family."

With shaking hands Isobel opened the other envelope and froze. It was the money she had given to Edward. Without comprehending what was happening Isobel looked from Violet to Kuragin and back. "How could you know him?"

The former prince drew a deep breath and sighed, "That's just it. The reason I want to talk to your husband. I was gambling with him and your stepson the night he died."

"Go on," she demanded, holding her breath.

"I didn't know who Mr Grey was until I read about it in the papers. That it was a car accident, but..."

"But it wasn't," Isobel interrupted him.

"No," Kuragin confirmed. "I saw how it happened. I was the only witness who saw what really happened. I didn't go to the police, because I couldn't risk to attract the authorities' attention. Me being here is not legalized yet and Edward had disappeared the same night. It took me weeks to locate him."

"I see," Isobel sighed.

"What I want to know is, how can _you_ know it wasn't an accident?" Violet asked Isobel. She had promised Igor to let him do the talking, but she couldn't keep her curiosity under control.

"Because he told me so when I gave him the money," Isobel explained. She had realized by now how useless it would be to deny anything to the Russian or to Violet. She pushed the money back to Kuragin. "Keep it," she said. "I don't want it."

Kuragin shook his head. "No. Give it to someone who's less fortunate than I am." He gave Violet a tender side glance. "Your secret is safe with me anyway."

Isobel blushed. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just don't want it."

"I'm not offended," Kuragin assured her. "But I think I've understood enough to know that I don't want anything of what this man took out of hate and anger."

Isobel swallowed and she read in Igor's face that he had indeed understood enough about the torment Edward had put her through.

Violet was watching the silent exchange with growing discontent. "If no one wants the money, give it to me," she said sourly.

"I haven't read the letter he wrote to Lord Merton, but if I were you I'd burn it. And don't look back."

Isobel toyed with the letter in her hand. It was her decision now. She could gloss it all over. There was no evidence left that connected Edward to her or Larry. She could get away scot free, if she wanted.

"The other letter is from me. In case, you want to tell Lord Merton the truth, please give it to him. I would like to tell him in person what happened."

"You want to leave the decision to me?" Isobel asked confused.

Again Kuragin looked at Violet, "Lady Grantham thinks it's best that way."

"I think this is something you and your husband should discuss first – if you think it necessary," Violet added pointedly. "Perhaps you'll come to the conclusion that Lord Merton has already endured enough."

Isobel didn't miss the less than subtle undertone in Violet's voice and she realized that this was probably an ongoing argument between her and the former prince.

"I will think about it," Isobel took the envelopes and the picture to put them into her purse.

Kuragin nodded, "Thank you."

"And now we should have some cake," Violet said. "Otherwise Mrs Potters' feelings will be hurt."

 **~~~tbc~~~**


	12. Sometimes people deserve more

**Thanks again for your lovely reviews. They really make my day. Thanks again to my marvellous beta... the end is near, my dear. The end is near :-)**

 **Chapter 12**

 **Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded**

 **Dower House, three days later**

It was late afternoon when Isobel and Violet took a slow walk through Violet's garden. It was a damp day, quite foggy, but Violet hadn't left the house in days. She craved air and exercise and Isobel was always happy to leave Cavenham. Violet's bones were protesting, but she ignored the pain. These days the worry about Isobel weighed heavier than the worry about her own health.

"Have you made a decision yet?" Violet asked. "Or did you do the only right thing and burnt the letter?"

"No, I haven't burnt anything," Isobel answered quietly.

"And you haven't told Dickie either?"

"No. I know I'm a coward, but every time I try to speak to him I can't seem to find the right words."

Violet bristled, "Because there are no right words! You should burn everything connected to Mr Channing and move on with your life. He's dead and you and your husband are alive."

Isobel sighed. "I know he's dead. But Larry is dead too and I know who killed him."

"A crazy, deluded man killed him and if Larry hadn't mingled with these people in the first place he would still be alive," Violet argued.

"I wonder if you'd say the same if Robert or Rosamund were dead, because of something Prince Kuragin did," Isobel said, causing Violet to stop in her tracks. She gave Isobel a long, pensive glance.

"It wasn't your fault."

Isobel scoffed, "So, if none of this is my fault, why do you think I shouldn't tell Dickie about it?"

Violet sighed. Isobel's question was a valid one. Even logical, but she wouldn't admit to it. "Do you really want to risk your marriage for something that was beyond your control?" Violet asked, avoiding a straight answer.

"Well, I can't live a lie," Isobel answered.

"But your love for your husband is not a lie," Violet argued. "So why push him into the abyss? Why let him face all this pain?"

"Because he needs to know the truth. I owe it to him to be honest with him."

"There can be too much honesty in a marriage."

"And there can be too little of it. I cannot live like this."

"What do you mean by that?" Violet asked, flaring up.

Isobel drew a sharp breath, before she answered. "I think I have to leave Dickie. That's what I mean."

* * *

 **Cavenham, night**

A long time after dinner Dickie was sitting in the library and stared into the fire. In the afternoon he had received a letter from the former Prince Igor Kuragin. He demanded a meeting with him in York. Dickie didn't know what to make of the request, because Kuragin explicitly demanded that the meeting was kept a secret between them. The last time Dickie had kept something concerning Kuragin from Isobel, the outcome had been a terrible argument and he had no wish to see a repetition of it.

Something was not quite right with Isobel these days. She had always been a fountain of energy and loveliness, but since her sudden illness the week before she was moody and extremely weary. She barely smiled and avoided his presence whenever she could. It worried him deeply, scared him. Had her feelings changed? Didn't she love him anymore? The thought was unbearable.

He rubbed his face, tired of the secrets and the unhappiness surrounding him. With Isobel at his side he had hoped for a better life, for some happiness, instead he faced one dilemma after the after.

With a sigh he looked at the letter in his hand. The prince's writing sounded urgent enough to consider a meeting. And at this stage of his marriage what could it hurt to see him without Isobel knowing about it?

Isobel closed the book she had been reading and stared at the ceiling. She was tired, but sleep was an illusion. She felt worn out during the day and at night she wouldn't fall asleep, because she constantly thought of Larry and his murderer. The memory of it had become so consuming that she couldn't look at Dickie without wanting to scream.

Wouldn't it be better to end their marriage? Surely it would be better for him, if she left him for good. He wouldn't want her to stay with him anyway, once he learnt the truth. No one could love the person who was responsible for their child's death.

She switched off the lights and sank into her pillows. Dickie was still downstairs in the library. As if he sensed she was avoiding him, he was now avoiding her. He allowed it because he thought it was what she wanted. Even in all this misery he did everything in his power to do what he believed pleased her.

She heard his steps in the hallway and closed her eyes, hoping he would think she was asleep. He entered the bedroom and she listened to the familiar sounds of him taking off his dressing gown. He slipped into bed without turning on the lights.

For several minutes they lay just next to each other both wide awake, waiting for the other to break the silence.

"Dickie…," she said quietly. She reached out and placed her hand on his chest.

"Yes?"

"I know I'm not a good wife these days. I'm sorry."

He sighed. "Won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"It's not you," she said. "It's me. Just me."

"If I could only believe it," his voice broke and he tried to turn his back on her, but she wouldn't let him. She moved against him and kissed him softly on the lips. "Please, believe me. You did nothing wrong," she whispered and kissed him again. Hesitantly his arms locked around her and the kiss became more passionate. To feel him against her was torture and relief at the same time. It was selfish of her, but she wanted him to make love to her one last time before she left him. She needed something to cherish when she was gone.

* * *

 **The Bleeding Wolf, a pub in York, the next day**

Dickie entered the pub, after he had met with his lawyer. It was late afternoon and the small crowd within the public house threw suspicious glances at him. He looked for the former Prince and found him sitting in the darkest corner of the pub.

"I wasn't sure you would come," he said, when Dickie sat down right across him and took off his gloves.

"Your message sounded urgent enough."

Kuragin nodded. Dickie noticed how tense the prince looked. There was little left of his usual poised demeanour and it aroused Dickie's suspicion.

"I'm still not sure I am doing the right thing. Lady Grantham begged me not to talk to you, but as things are now, I would never forgive myself, if I kept silent!"

Dickie sat back, uneasy with the situation. Kuragin leaned forward and folded his hands, as if he were about to pray.

He let out a sigh and said, "Let me tell you a story about myself. Perhaps it will help you to understand me. A long time ago, before I met Lady Grantham, my wife Irina and I had a son. His name was Alexander Igoryevich, a boy named after her father. He wasn't easily conceived, so we knew he would always be our only child. My heir…." He scoffed a little and looked bitterly at the ring on his pinkie. "What does that even mean these days? What do people of our kind really have to entail?"

"What happened to him?"

"He died during the winter of 1873. On New Year's Eve we went ice skating on the Neva. The ice broke. I tried to save him, but he drowned. He was only seven years old. Irina never forgave me and I didn't blame her. The day I had to bury my son was the day I buried my marriage. I only started to live again when I met Lady Grantham. She brought me back to life"

Affected by the Prince's tragedy Merton closed his eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It happened a long time ago," Kuragin said. "As a matter of fact it happened such a long time ago that I sometimes wonder if it wasn't just a dream or a story that happened to someone else."

"Forgive me, but what has your son to do with me?" Dickie wondered.

"Superficially nothing," Kuragin admitted. "But you've lost a son as well and every parent deserves to know what happened to their children."

Merton froze. "Larry died in a car accident after a struggle in the pub," he said tonelessly. "The driver was never found."

"That's only half of the truth," Kuragin growled. "I was there the night he died. I was in the pub with him. We played poker, before he left. He was drunk and in a vile mood."

Dickie straightened up, his pulse was racing in his veins and the nervousness he couldn't explain earlier, threatened to take his breath away.

"Go on."

"We were three that night. Your son, a man named Edward Channing and me. I understood you know the man's name by now."

"I do. But I don't…."

Kuragin raised his hand. "It took me some time to understand as well. I didn't know who your son was, but it wasn't the first time he gambled in that pub. Edward must have recognized him. Larry was an easy victim for him. When he was drunk, Edward started an argument with him. It became ugly and they started fighting. Edward hit him until Larry fell and ended on the street where he was hit by a car."

"Are you telling me that Edward Channing killed my son?"

"I'm afraid he did."

Merton swallowed hard, as something dawned on him. It was impossible, but on the other hand it would explain Isobel's strange behaviour of the last week... and last night. "What does my wife know about this?"

Kuragin drew a deep breath, "I don't know," he lied. "That's what you have to ask her."

* * *

 **Cavenham**

When Dickie returned home later that evening, the house seemed strangely deserted and dark. Half a dozen items of luggage stood in the hallway, awaiting their transport. Dickie's expression darkened, as he passed the suitcases.

"Where is her Ladyship?" he asked the young footman who was taking his coat and hat.

"She is in the library," the footman answered.

"Did she tell you what to do with the suitcases?"

The footman shook his head. "No, Mylord."

"Good, just leave it here until I tell you what to do with it."

It was obvious that the young man was puzzled by the order, but he just nodded, "As you wish, Mylord."

Once the servant had left, Dickie went down the hallway and entered the library. The room lay in shadows, a small fire spread some warmth and light across the shelved walls. Isobel was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace. She wore a hat and a black coat and stared into the flames.

Uncertain what to expect, Dickie sank into the armchair next to hers and asked, "Is this what I think it is? Is this goodbye?"

 **~tbc~**

 **That's the big question. Will isobel really leave Dickie? Or will he send her away, because he can't forgive her? And what about Violet and her Russian Prince? Will there be a happy end for these star crossed lovers? Stay tuned for the next and final chapter!**


	13. Some things, once you loved them

**Chapter 13**

 **Some things, once you've loved them, become yours forever.**

Isobel closed her eyes when she heard Dickie's steps closing in. The time had come. Now she had to face him, had to tell him the truth. It was the right thing to do. She would tell him everything about Larry's death before she left. Only leaving a letter behind would have been the ultimate insult and she owed him more than that.

"Is this what I think it is? Is this goodbye?" he asked as calmly, as if he was asking her about today's weather. He sat down next to her and she took several deep breaths, before she started talking.

"Please, let me explain," she started, still staring into the flames. "I've been keeping this from you for too long already, because I didn't know how to tell you."

"Is this about Mr Channing?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is," she said. "I have no excuse for not telling you earlier, except that I wanted to protect you. I thought you had gone through enough pain and heartache. I wanted to spare you, but I see now that I can't."

He sighed deeply. "This afternoon I talked to Prince Kuragin. I met him in York and he told me about the night Larry died."

Isobel frowned. "He told you? But he said..."

"I think he wanted to make sure, someone did. When I asked him how much you knew about it, he just said he had no idea. I don't pretend to be a good observer, but I think it was pretty obvious that he was lying."

Isobel closed her eyes, absorbing the fact that he already knew everything he needed to know. All she could do was adding the details. Still, it was important he heard them from her own lips.

"In the beginning I didn't know that Edward had killed Larry," she explained. "I had no idea until the afternoon I went to see him. It was the day he killed himself."

"You went to see Channing?" Dickie asked in disbelief. "After I begged you not to?"

"I don't know why I went there," she admitted. "I just knew I had to. As if I wanted to prove myself – and him – that I wasn't scared of him. Not anymore at least."

"He still could have hurt you."

She ignored his remark and continued, "I gave him the money, but I understood too late that it had never been about the money at all. All he wanted was getting back at me..." Her voice faded and she finally turned her head to face her husband. "He claimed it was his plan to kill Larry all along, but now I'm not sure I can believe him. I think he simply saw an opportunity and took it. But none of this changes the fact that your son is dead."

"No."

"I do blame myself for it."

Slowly Dickie shook his head, "How could you think that keeping this from me is the right way to deal with it?"

"I didn't. I just needed to find a way to understand it all myself. I needed to understand what it meant for me before I told you. I had hoped against hope that Lady Grantham and Prince Kuragin wouldn't interfere. I was wrong."

Silence fell. Isobel knew she ought to leave now. It was all said and done. But a feeling of uncertainty kept her in her seat. Dickie's silence bewildered her. She knew he wasn't the kind of man to burst into fits of anger and disappointment. He was the person who locked up bitterness and anger and preferred to focus on the good things. But what good was left for them?

"I told the footmen not to move your luggage until I told him to," he said suddenly and pushed himself out of his chair. He went to the bar and poured himself a whiskey.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because for once I wanted to be in charge of my life."

"I can't stay here. You cannot want me here."

With rising nervousness Isobel watched him finishing his drink before he answered. "I don't want you to go. Feel free to leave, if that is what you want. But leaving, because you assume it's what I want is a coward's way out. Just this time you could leave it to me to make a choice."

She rose, her knees weak and her heart beating in her throat.

"Does that mean you still love me?"

"For better or for worse," he quoted with a pensive look into his empty glass. "Larry was what he was. If he hadn't been in that place, he would be alive today."

She shook her head, tears now streaming down her cheeks. "But he was your son..."

"And you are my wife. If you want to leave I can't stop you, but don't do it, because you think you owe it to me. The only thing you owe me is honesty."

She made a step forward into his direction. "I love you. I don't want to go. I just don't want you to wake up one day and regret marrying me."

Dickie abandoned his glass and went slowly towards her. "I could never regret being married to you." He took both of her hands into his and pulled her closer. "I could never be happy without you."

"Neither could I without you," she admitted.

"Then you should stop punishing both of us for something a mad man did to us."

Isobel nodded and now her tears were tears of relief and joy. She felt Dickie's lips on her cheek and closed her eyes. A sob escaped her throat when she leaned against him and finally allowed herself to let go the bitterness and regret that had poisoned their lives for months.

* * *

 **Dower House**

To Violet's enormous surprise Prince Kuragin had shown up unannounced in the early evening to talk to her. Annoyed, but not necessarily surprised, she had invited him for dinner and had told Spratt to arrange everything. Naturally Kuragin didn't wear white tie and so she wouldn't change either.

Once they were alone in the drawing room, Kuragin bluntly told her about his conversation with Lord Merton. Violet was aghast. "You told him about Mr Channing and his involvement in Mr Grey's death?"

"Yes. The man deserves to know the truth."

"And what about Lady Merton? Did you ever think about her?" She couldn't believe it.

"I did," Kuragin answered sharply. "She's not like you, you know. She needs honesty and clarity."

"What do you mean by that?" Violet asked crisply.

"You know what I mean." Kuragin rose and went to the window. It was getting dark outside. The day was turning into night. "They are stronger than that. Stronger than we were... stronger than we are."

"You are talking in riddles!" With growing anger Violet rose and ignored the pain in her hip. The man was driving her mad with his less than subtle hints about their relationship. "If you have to say something, say it, but don't patronize me and don't turn your back on me!"

He did as he was ordered. He was facing her now, his hands buried in his pockets. "We are both free and yet you ask me to sneak around, because you fear to commit yourself to me."

Violet's jaw dropped. "Are you honestly proposing to me?"

"Yes."

"How very bourgeois!" she quipped, hoping, mocking him could buy her time to think.

"I'm serious," he said, unmoved by her joke. "I want more than this." He made a sweeping gesture across the room. "More than dinners and occasional rendezvous in hidden quarters."

"I'm not sure you are aware of the consequences," she argued. "I'm not on my own. I have a large family. I have responsibilities!"

"I am fully aware of it. But I think we've been apart long enough. We paid our dues... we paid for our sins. It's time we make the best of the time we have left."

He crossed the room to meet her. "Be my wife," he said, cupping her face gently with his hands.

"Are you sure you want this... to live here with me providing the roof?" she was doubtful. Igor Kuragin had always been a proud man. Did his years of exile change him enough to accept the circumstances?

"God knows how much time we have left," he answered. "I wish you would run away with me. Only us, without depending on anyone, but that is impossible. I don't want to share you with your family, but I can see you won't leave them. So, if that is the compromise I have to make, I'll do it. What do you say?"

Violet drew a deep breath and nodded. She was short of a witty answer, because she had never expected she could find herself in the position of answering a proposal again. Igor Kuragin had that effect on her. He knew how to make her speechless.

"I say yes, Igor Alexandrovich Kuragin. I will marry you."

* * *

 **Cavenham, New Year's Day**

It had started to snow the day after Christmas. Since then Yorshire was covered with a thick white blanket. The air was cold and the sky blue. Violet hated the winter. The cold pained her bones, but Igor loved it. It reminded him of his home.

Isobel's invitation for tea was a welcome opportunity to get out of the house. Kuragin was taking a walk with Dickie while Isobel and Violet stayed inside to chat over tea and biscuits.

"I had a visitor yesterday," Isobel reported with a small smile.

"Really. Who was it?"

"It was Doctor Clarkson."

"I see..." Violet could barely hide her surprise. "What did he want?"

"He asked for my help. Apparently he needs help to organise a fundraiser for the hospital."

Violet chuckled delighted, "So, he has overcome his bruised ego. And how does Dickie feel about the idea?"

"Who says I agreed to help?" Isobel asked a bit miffed, but Violet gave her a look. "That would be a first."

Isobel gave in, "He hasn't objected," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'll make a habit of it. I'm just glad the Doctor Clarkson stopped pretending I'm non-existent. I think he's finally understood he has no claim on me. Aside from that, I already have another project I'm involved in."

"And what is that?"

"I want to open a shelter for women who need help."

Violet was puzzled. "What kind of help?"

"Any kind... a shelter to hide from abusive men, husbands... I want women to know there's a place where they are safe."

"That is a generous, even noble idea, my dear, but how will you raise the money for it?"

"I'll find a way," Isobel answered determined.

Violet raised her cup, "I guess you will."

"How is the Prince? Has he settled in yet?"

Violet hesitated, before she answered. Some days there was a certain restlessness about Igor that she couldn't quite fathom, other days he was just delightfully attentive. "I think he's getting there," she said.

"I'm sure there's a lot to get used to for him," Isobel pointed out.

"I guess you are right."

Moments later the door opened and both men came in, laughing and chatting.

"There you are," Isobel said with a smile, as Dickie and Igor joined them at the table. "We were just talking about you."

"How hard it is to get rid of us?" Kuragin asked, giving Violet a side glance.

"More like, how lucky we are to have the two of you around," Isobel explained.

"Strange, we were having the same conversation outside," Dickie said.

"I guess there is nothing else left to say. Let's have tea," Violet said. She and Isobel exchanged a knowing smile. All was well.

 **Some things, once you've loved them, become yours forever.**

 **And if you try to let them go, they only circle back and return to you. They become part of who you are. ~ Allen Ginsberg**

 **~The End~**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, commented, and alerted this story. I had great fun writing it and I hope you saw the light within the darkness ;-) I also have to thank my beta Gemenied. Every mistake you may find is one of my own.**


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